


Dreamland

by Lala_Sara



Category: Original Work
Genre: Agender Character, Alien Gender/Sexuality, Cultural References, Depression, Drug Use, M/M, Non-binary character, erectile disfunction
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-11
Updated: 2016-07-11
Packaged: 2018-07-23 01:13:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7460814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lala_Sara/pseuds/Lala_Sara
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I won’t call you Q. I actually like 'Lieutenant’," I spoke to Eric who already glanced upon me stealthily couple of times. I was aim to draw attention with all those lilac bangs and mascaraed eyes, so I didn’t know what feeling I provoked. "Actually I shall call you 'Lieutenant’ even when you’ll be promoted."<br/>"Why?"<br/>"Because you remind me of a certain Lieutenant."<br/>"Who?"<br/>"The one that all my childhood I wanted to be taken by." And in my adolescence in more than one way...<br/>"Your father?"<br/>I pulled a face. "No. My dad, I think, even began his career right from the colonel."<br/>"Then who?" Eric seemed surprised to be talking to me. But pleasantly surprised, perhaps?<br/>"Some imaginary dude, never mind. I’m Doctor Arlington, the mage." I offered my hand. He carefully shook it like I was fragile.<br/>I looked at him closely. Indeed he did. He really resembled Lieutenant. That's why I felt drawn to him, not because of his cuteness. Although he was cute. Oh shut up.<br/>“First Lieutenant Alexander," he introduced himself. "The... goblin."<br/>"I prefer 'house elf’."<br/>"'Supply officer' is fine."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dreamland

**Author's Note:**

> That had to be the book but I'm not doing so well... maybe posting it will make me write again.  
> It's not beta-ed.  
> It's sci-fi and not fantasy despite some familiar words. It will be explained in the middle of this part.  
> Mostly it's establishment of the world and especially the race. And of one of the main relationships in the book.  
> Also it has [art](http://fav.me/d694acm)

11.7.12

In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit. The hole went straight on like a tunnel for some way, and then dipped suddenly down, so suddenly that a hobbit had not a moment to think about stopping himself before he found himself falling down a very deep well.

I decided to start a new diary. All others are either found out about or too fucking boring. It will be a secret one because I slipped. I can't put it in my Mood Diary. Let it be our secret that my high spirit is not because of their shitty anti-ds but because of my speeds. I wish they already gave up on me and just let me self-medicate. A pill of speed today and nine days off the fucking Zoloft. As I say in the Moody I have been better but now I'm all agog. It's nice to feel at least agog instead of like van Gogh. I'm anticipating something good like being able to get out of bed more often. I even, like, have PLANS. And not too lazy to re-read my entry. And fix the grammar. That's actually a big deal. It's not like someone will evah read, dah. Well, except for trolls, but nevermind. Well, I started another very boring diary just to hide the fact I'm off my medicine. I don't think it will be anything much to say beside that.

 

11.13.12

Told you.

 

11.15.12

Now I actually am glad that I didn't take the speed today. It would be even more devastating. You see, I had a Scare. No. The Scare. There. ‘The’. Big Time. Like, you can build Great Chinese Wall out of bricks I shat. Well. Judge for yourself, dear diary.

It began with a doorbell.

"Hi, emo-boy, looking good."

No, big black and gorgeous was not the one I expected. Hi yourself, troll. But I’m polite, so:

"Greetings and bienvenue, counselor. Come on in." And I coughed smoke in her face as a penance.

"When the last time you came out, Chester?" She passed into my cell through the grey cloud I expelled.

"Not my fault I don’t have motivation to." Also, I came out at my fifteenth birthday, thank you very much. And I have apprehensions to believe that’s what actually killed mommy, rest her homophobic soul in peace, so bad memories here, duh!

"Have you purchased illegal drugs again?" she asked. I wish, I thought. "You know full well you shouldn’t take them." she warned.

"No 'It’s strictly forbidden to take drugs at the base’?" I resented the wording. "No 'Drugs generally are bad’? No, specifically me who shouldn’t take them, that’s it? In my case it’s somehow worse? It’s not fair, you know."

The banter was too familiar to feel anything not that I often feel these days at all; I was actually bored in spite of the fact that my dealer was due in five minutes and I had to get my counselor fucking far out of here in order to get what I needed. No, diary, you know I’m not some shitty junky, I just sometimes can’t stand it all. Need to be less dead. Yes, some drugs are to numb, mine are to sparkle. I’m literally can’t stand here. Like, at all. So I sat down.

"You know very well it’s clashing with your medication." She rudely brushed Poky off his place and – behold! – settled comfortable in the armchair. Don’t get too cozy, troll!

"I’m not taking the medication." I said with a dare. Yes, that was our secret, diary, but she pissed me off. But don't worry, after what happened today I will still keep you. Don't think I could tell everything that happened, to the Moody, he'll just laugh at my face. He always laughs, with that nasty rattling half-cough, when I'm being silly. You won't laugh, would you? You'll be like that nice shrink I had in school - very tentative. He never ratted me, and he had serious reasons to do it. Be like that.

"Why?" - she jumped in the arm-chair. "Chester, I wasn’t kidding, you have to take your antidepressants."

"When you get me ones I can name that. I feel myself in more apathy with them than without. I have to self-medicate with your fucking 'medication’." But yeah, they fucking clash with my drugs. So you realize what had to go. It’s really ain’t worth trying to be Christian and homosexual at the same time. And it’s not about right and wrong, baby, it’s about dull and fun. I didn’t say that, though.

"I just think you have to be careful."

"Why? They'll fire me? Kick me out of here? I wish!" I really wish, thought I.

"They can cut your privileges," she pointed with a glance at the butt in my mouth. I don't think there was an innuendo here for both meanings of the word 'butt’, but alright…

"You really think I care?" Well, what to choose - cigarettes or amphetamines? Nicotine or speed? Hm... Let me think.

"You’re getting lazy..."

"For fuck’s sake!" And I though trolls, or ainurs, as they call themselves, supposed to know the difference between depression and laziness. Their base profession is psychology, for Cosmos' sake. It's like I would confuse electron and wave. Sure, sometimes electrons behave like waves but surely you should know better. So no, this time I actually was prepared for this argument. "The fact that I don’t care is not a sign of my 'laziness’. The lack of motivation is not laziness. Sense of meaninglessness is not laziness. Motivation to actually not to do something is not laziness. Laziness is when you want something to be done but want it to be done by someone else or without the effort. And by the way laziness is an engine of progress; every invention is about how to do something with a minimum effort. I actually wish it was laziness! But I just don’t give a shit about... well... anything in my life. At least things I’m allowed to do. So can it! Will you?"

"You’re bored, I get it." I growled. It's not boredom either! But she didn’t notice and kept on: "I still recommend you to pass the tenth. You’ll see, it would be interesting." she actually looked rather pleased with her proposition, like she just thought it out.

"How should you know?" contre-argumented I.

"I’ve heard. My boss is a ring-bearer, as you know."

"Yeah, mine too, but you’re also still above. And I’m dead as I am, thank you very much," snapped I.

"But thus you could be 'dead’" - she quoted the word with fingers - "and have fun. You obviously grew out of Asgard long ago."

"Well, actually, there is still the persuasion you’re missing every time you’re pushing me to the Niflheim. You can tell me where they are and I’ll 'die’ gladly. Let’s make a deal. I’ll be 'dead’ and couldn’t be able to see them anyway even if I knew where they are. What’s the risk? I don’t understand." Not the new argument there either, I remember making it already a couple of times.

"We have to be careful. You had several incidents before."

"Oh. You don’t think being 'dead’ will stop me?" said I without irony but with astonishment. Damned flattering. But hardly true. I’m expired. I really don’t think I’ll be able to try once more.

She didn’t answer but finally got up and went to the door. About time – I almost finished my cancer stick.

"Don’t self-medicate, Chester. I’ll send some brown coat to choose the right drugs for you."

"Uppers are the right drugs for me, counselor."

"Antidepressants are the uppers, emo-boy. You just have to wait a little longer for them to take the effect. Be patient with them as we are patient with you. Promise me."

I mumbled something that she might happily assume as agreement.

"And Chester..." She stopped at the threshold. "How is that target we gave you?"

"I’m actually on my way to do it." Or maybe even to do him, I thought. He is kinda cute. That’s why I needed speed in the first place. To do their bidding. It’s not very polite, you know, to start conversation with your 'target' from "I wish I had a cancer." Cigarettes have proved to be not much effective on both issues. Well, yes, many people smoke to calm down. But it should be upper not downer. It’s like drinking coffee to fall asleep. Some people do that, too. It makes same amount of sense scientifically, though.

"Oh, Kevin." Yeah, that’s what I was afraid of. My fucking dealer. In time, as bad as it might be. Right when troll was leaving. No sooner no later. Kevin, you sod... At least he’s in his brown coat so it doesn’t look like he’s here on private affair. Whatever someone can think of me having private affairs with this looby. "You’re reading my mind. I was just about to ask you to check on Chester’s medication." Oh yeah, he's the brown coat she was going to ask. Neat. Logical, even.

"Miss Ravenel..." He looked baffled but had no desire to give up. "I took initiative. I heard of his problems with antidepressants, so..." He even didn’t lie per se. He was the assistant of my doctor and indeed could be checking up on me. And he heard of my problems with anti-ds indeed, from me. He was the only one who heard it. It just happens that also he listens to me more than to his boss. Don’t know why but I have this effect on some people. They’re ready to lie for me, steal for me, punch for me... I would go places if this impact wouldn’t be limited by recipient’s IQ. The higher IQ the lesser my influence, alas.

"Yes, I approve initiative. But not amphetamines instead of proper antidepressants. So please give me the stash and I won’t report on you." She held out her hand and smiled viciously.

I hate trolls. And amphetamines are proper antidepressants, do your research. And they actually work for me unlike all other stuff they were trying to feed me over the years.

"I need for speed." I demanded when she left at last.

"But man, she took it all!"

"For fuck’s sake, Kevin, don’t tell me you’ve put all pills in one pocket!"

He shrugged. I’m surrounded by idiots... And am so fucking tired...

After two cups of coffee and more cigarettes in preparation for the meeting I still felt like crap and decided to skip. But then I recalled that I actually wasted all morning shaving and bathing and dyeing and preening... I definitely didn’t want to repeat this process in near future, so I forced myself to get out.

I all but missed the lunch break but he still was in the canteen. Gosh, that Alexander guy is really cute, more so in person. With that innocent golden beauty of fresh bedewed flower in the rising sun. And as much real as any mask. There was something wrong with this guy, as with any of us, but the ones who don’t show their faults are just worst. Firstly, because therefore they are liars, in addition. And secondly, because there was something wrong with them and you can’t be prepared for this. I personally prefer to avoid such jerks. Just in case. But promise is a promise. And he’s cute. Oh fuck, I’m shallow as fuck.

I took my lunch despite nausea I felt after all that nicotine-caffeine routine. And sat nearby to think on the strategy. I knew about him only basic stuff from the open profile. There of course was no dirt – he was indeed good on paper. Fair-haired bright-eyed white-smiled perfection. Top of the class, graduated with honor, both high school and QMS, quick promotion through ranks and levels... I sensed more sophisticated manipulation device than mine. His was actually working on smart people. I felt envious.

"Q!" yelled some orc and rushed to Eric Alexander’s table where he was finishing his... whatever was that.

"Quit calling me Q," grumbled he. "You’re not actually Bond and we’re not in England." And also he’s not Picard and we’re not on Enterprise, grumbled I under my nose.

"But then I am! And you’re still quartermaster, quartermaster. Or you prefer... no way... goblin?"

"I’m a supply officer. And First Lieutenant," sighed Eric.

"Yes, sir! Apologies, sir!" The soldier saluted half-jokingly. "You remember my request?"

"Yes, I remember, Airman, I remember. I’m still waiting for delivery though. Don’t worry; it’ll arrive before the ceremony."

"I’m really sorry, Q... er... sir... I’m just so excited about the whole thing."

"I understand you, Airman. Congratulations once more. Bye."

Oh... So this is Airman Lechner, our new chosen one, indeed 'the bond'. And also future 'deceased’. As all orcs he’s thinking he’s going to Valhalla not Niflheim, though. Who knows, maybe for them there is indeed special hall with Odin at the head of the table? Well, I see why he was chosen, yes, but my First Lieutenant is cutey, too. Yes-yes, I am shallow, but I guess I just need to get laid, pronto. Last batch of antidepressants is wearing off at last. I was beginning to worry about post SSRI SD, but phew! I usually don’t mind this particular adverse effect, but you always can feel when it’s over. I’m beginning to feel all... wobbly in that department. Maybe soon I even would be able to actually... wobble. At least by myself.

"I won’t call you Q. I actually like 'Lieutenant’," I spoke to Eric who already glanced upon me stealthily couple of times. I was aim to draw attention with all those lilac bangs and mascaraed eyes, so I didn’t know what feeling I provoked. "Actually I shall call you 'Lieutenant’ even when you’ll be promoted."

"Why?"

"Because you remind me of a certain Lieutenant."

"Who?"

"The one that all my childhood I wanted to be taken by." And in my adolescence in more than one way...

"Your father?"

I pulled a face. "No. My dad, I think, even began his career right from the colonel."

"Then who?" Eric seemed surprised to be talking to me. But pleasantly surprised, perhaps?

"Some imaginary dude, never mind. I’m Doctor Arlington, the mage." I offered my hand. He carefully shook it like I was fragile.

I looked at him closely. Indeed he did. He really resembled Lieutenant. That's why I felt drawn to him, not because of his cuteness. Although he was cute. Oh shut up.

“First Lieutenant Alexander," he introduced himself. "The... goblin."

"I prefer 'house elf’."

"'Supply officer' is fine. I've never seen you here; I thought I knew everyone on my corner, doctor."

Oh, he definitely saw me, but I was all overalls and stubble. Can’t blame him for not noticing me before. Last couple of years I wasn’t much of a sight.

"I’m new here," I lied.

"Welcome to Dreamland. Your father serves here?"

"Yeah, he used to." But wait a minute. Well, I said my dad is in the army, but didn’t say here, did I? So how he could guess?

"If you need anything... And I mean anything... I’m a supply officer; I can get literary anything..." He took my hand between his two and looked me straight in the eyes. Oh gosh. He was flirting! I felt all wobbly. But... Something wasn’t right. It felt like he wasn’t talking to me, like... Oh damn. Was he?

"My name is Doctor Chet Arlington," repeated I. And when it didn’t work: "Chester Arlington."

He looked down at our hands like he just realized what he was doing.

"I wasn’t mistaken for a girl for quite some time, mind you, but it happens, not your fault," I reassured him. That was my opportunity to test the waters of my assignment’s subject and be on my way home, but... I felt not disappointment even... At least not because it made clear I have no chance with him because he definitely was straight but... I don’t know... Something was still not right. Like I missed something...

Let’s back to business. I observed his reaction. He was baffled but not disgusted. That was good. He carefully put my hand down and said "I’m sorry."

"It’s okay, don’t need to be." And that’s it. I just couldn’t talk no more. Terrible realization struck me. What if... I felt dizzy. "Do you have a twin?"

"Yes. Twin..." answered he, still confused. "But how could you guess?”

Oh fuck... They fucking couldn’t. They just... They could. Those fucking trolls!

"I’m sorry. I have to go," mumbled I and fled the scene on sinking legs.

My boss is, I think, intimidated by me because I outlived two gandalves before him and he knew he wasn’t the last. So it was a fair try.

"I need a close profile," I uttered from the threshold of his office.

"What? Who are you?" Oh, right. He might never have seen me all prettied up like this, too. Fucking newbies. I gave oath to myself to outlive this one too and reminded: "Chester Arlington, theoretic."

"Oh! Brilliant! So you’re feeling better? Might return to work?"

"If you get me the close profile on Eric Alexander. First Lieutenant, Quartermaster Corps."

"Em... You want a close profile? You mean a secret one?"

"No, close, not 'secret’. I already got his open one, remember?"

"Oh, yes, that was something about ainur’s errand."

"Yes. Now I need his close profile. Not the one you suppose to pass off as one."

Our profile system is like my diaries. The first one is public in Intranet, something we all fill ourselves for our colleagues and friends, and in cases like mine, therapists. A couple of words on you and your mood. That would be Moody, everyday about nothing. The second one is 'open’. In case of diaries it's any former secret ones when secrets become obsolete. In case of profiles it’s the one you could ask from your boss or other high rank or low level, and they pretend it to be a big secret, so these ones also are 'secret’ ones. But it’s just for fools and trolls. Really smart people know that these are heavy redacted versions of the real ones – the third and not last – close ones. As of diary it's you, my pretty. The presently secret one. What’s happening in Niflheim we don’t know, but presume Shadow Host has their own profiles and ring-bearers have access to them, too. Who has real profiles on ring-bearers I don't fucking know. Each other?

"Ainurs didn’t tell me you might need one."

"I don’t give a fuck..." I began raging but quickly shut up. I needed to play it cool. "Force majeure. Don’t have time to get approvals. Need it right fucking now."

"Brilliant. I’ll... get it for you." He disappeared in back door. "What’s the name then?" yelled he from out there.

"Eric Alexander. One of our supply officers."

"Right. I can’t give it to you directly," he came back with the file in his slightly chubby hands. "We’ll do it this way. You ask me what you want to know, I find it, let you see the article. Deal?"

"Yes, okay. Deal." That was fucked up, but what a hell. He knows who I am and what are my issues, he has read my close profile, after all. So not fucking bothered.

"And it can be just one thing. So chose carefully."

One thing. That’s tight. Okay. His birthday? Even if it wasn’t like in open one – half of year older than it should be if he's the one – what does it prove? His twin? No, doesn’t prove shit either. They must name his real parents, so this I'm gonna look at. Right?

"His parents. Real parents."

"Brilliant. I see only one set of parents. No fake ones or anything. Here." He turned the profile to me; everything else on the page carefully covered.

"George Alexander; Samara Alexander nee de Mauley." That’s what it said, the same pair as in the open one. But paranoia, my paranoia...

"You won’t keep it from me if there was some... known name?" I tried.

"Whose name?"

"Well... For fuck’s sake... Mine. Okay? My name. You know my profile. You know my situation. Kid is just six months older than my boys! And he has a twin!" I fucking felt myself like an idiot. I don’t normally panic over every pair of twins born in 1989. What’s the fucking wrong with me?

"Er... No, he’s not. No twin. Actually, no siblings at all."

"What? But he said..."

"Sorry. As far as I can see he can’t be yours. Nope. Sorry. And I don’t think ainurs would mess with you like that."

"Why not? They could admit them here; they did it for me, they admitted me because of dad."

"I think they would tell you if..."

"Really?! Because they don’t tell me shit about my boys for like twenty fucking years!"

I rushed out slamming the door by the way. Fuck, for fuck’s...

 

11.16.12

I recalled of Lieutenant only in the night. What on Earth I found in him that reminded me myself or Wynn? Nothing alike. Firstly, we both were brunettes. And blue-eyed. And nothing in the features. Okay, Bill and Tom are brown-eyed, too, I’m not always rational on the subject. But why that fucking heartache though? Not my boy. Not important. Worth to forget. Well, after I fulfill that damn task. And maybe... No, after The Scare, for which I felt ashamed, by the way, I couldn’t think of anything wobbly with him. He could be my son, for fuck’s sake. Not happening.

I dreamed in the small hours about Hubble sky, again. I was outside, near The Supply Office. I forgot how it actually looks like but I was sure it was my Lieutenant’s workplace. And he was in there. In the night, running some last errands. I was waiting outside, under fucking kaleidoscope of nebulas and galaxies and stars bright as mini suns. And it was peaceful and beautiful and fucking numb. I didn’t want to wake up. And I didn’t.

But by noon I recalled that I promised my boss to go to work. Ough.

Work was dull. I already suspected some dark shit about why the hell we can’t make anything right with the fucking dragons and why we can engineer only wyverns, so... If humans can’t even properly pilot the saucers not just engineer any, there can be only few answers. But I couldn’t tell anything to anyone. I actually recalled why I stopped working. Not just 'cause of depression. You can’t utilize the theorem if you have different axioms than theorem is based on. And the ones I have are shifting. I acknowledge that I would be better working underneath in Niflheim levels, I clearly overgrew Asgard. But I don’t want to. And, of course the real question was should I? They in there know why we can’t do properly what we supposed to do, right? And they didn’t do shit. So they either don’t know how to solve a problem or don’t want it to be solved. So what my presence will change? I’m not a genius.      

                            

11.20.12

Today was Bond’s Wake. And I decided to finish the fucking assignment before I dallied it off for good.

When I got to the ceremony, it already was finished more or less. Official parties. It’s the only time the staff is allowed to drink alcohol in the vicinities but I don’t drink. Alcohol clashes with my drugs. Legal and illegal. But I can smoke at parties in public. I don’t get out much but to parties. And they are few. So... Doesn’t get out much. But I would get out for this even if there was no assignment.

I scanned the little crowd for Lieutenant. I wondered why I recognized him by his back only and decided to apologize for the last time right at sight:

 "I’m sorry I’ve done a bunk last time."

Eric turned round, got a glassy eyeful of me and glared agape, cocktail in hand. Damn. He already had one over the eight. He clearly exercised his right to drink. Well, when I’m through with him, he, hopefully, would be over his nine, but I can’t see about it now, not when he’s in such a state. So, just a little innocent chat then, yeah?

"It’s not because of what you did!" I reassured him. "I just... left my iron on... If you know what I mean. So... You said you have a twin?" Yeah, I was actually dying to know why the hell he lied to me about that, who could have known...

"Year, Twin. He’s my dog."

"Your daug? Your pal, your swore brother?" I tried to recall all I knew about the modern slang, that was not much.

"No, just... a dog. I’m not a pedophile!"

"Er... Good to know." I though it’s called zoophilia... Or incest. Whatever he meant. I wondered what he’s had, apart from nine Margaritas. "So your dog is your twin? Yeah, imagine that." I prefer not to confront the drunks and the idiots.

"His name is Dog. No, I mean, his name is Twin. Right. I have a dog that called Twin. But how did you know?"

"I didn’t know about a dog, I asked if you have a twin brother... or sister. So your dog’s name is Twin. Why?"

"Parents promised me a brother. Or sister. But... There was a miscarriage. So they bought me a puppy."

"But why Twin?"

"I always wanted a twin. I didn’t understand at that time that you can’t get a twin six years after you... So actually I was expecting a twin from them."

I almost tattled that I actually had a twin who died during infancy; but uttered only: "I have a cat."

"And what is his name?"

"Tezcatlipoca."

He tried to repeat and failed.

"You can call him Pocky," pitied him I.

"I would want to meet your pussy," blurted he out and, after realizing what he said, blushed and stuttered: "I mean cat! Your cat! I’m not a pedophile!"

I think I sense a pattern here.

"I’m older than you think," I calmed him down. "Way older. And I may be look like a girl but I thought that last time we established I don’t have... a pussy." However I want it.

"I’m sorry. I’m sorry you don’t have... it."

My mind stuttered. And then I just burst into laughter. Oh come on, it wasn’t even a smart joke, just some dribbling from a drunk. But I’m not! I'm not drunk. I’m sober. What’s wrong with you, idiot, get a grip on yourself! - I told myself off. But when Eric’s trills of laughter followed, I saw what’s going on. Fuck. I really need to get laid, ain’t I? And preferably... No, not him. Damn.

Airman Lechner and his bond interrupted us the same moment as I started to think to fuck it and fuck Eric anyway.

"Hey, Q, thanks again for that," he waved his and his dwarf’s hands before our noses and I noticed the golden bands. We don’t call it marriage and we don’t call these parties weddings, but the kid sure knows that indeed they are. Usually though it would be the real one with the third party, but there was no third this time, just them two. Wonder then why... Well, his dwarf was a looker, too... I guess. For humanized ostrich. They had lustrous eyelashes, this dwarf. Not many of them have eyelashes at all.

"It fits?" asked Lieutenant.

"Yes, perfect. See?" The dwarf’s fingers were too thin and too knotty. Lechner clicked the ring on the ring one open and then locked it back. That’s what my supply officer supplied the Airman with – the wedding bands. And one was special for too thick joints and too thin bones.

"And look what I’ve got in exchange. His patty." Airman Lechner took the jewelry out of the pocket and put it on the back of his hand. It was the dwarven patty: the bracelet with connection to the ring on middle finger. Handflower? Slave bracelet? I don’t know how humans call them. "You see; they have this tradition – when they’re in the Quest..."

"I know, I know!" I butted in. "I know about the patty tradition. The Quester receives the patty in the beginning of the path to give it to his bond when the Quest is over. But I’ve never seen a chosen one actually wearing it. Firstly, it’s traditionally ruined after the dwarf takes it off because it’s been woven right at the hand, no snaps like on the ring you gave them. Secondly, it’s too... not manly." Eric looked at me with a frown. Yes, I don’t position my own style as "manly", but I’m actually aware of other’s prejudices.

"I already thought what I’m gonna do with it, you didn’t let me finish! I’m gonna remake it into a bracelet. The manly one."

"Oh. Good. It’s very clever."

"Thank you."

"Well, good luck to you both."

"You two, too. See you soon, sir." Did he just actually suggest we're a couple? And thought that we're also going under?

"Perhaps." Eric didn't correct him.

"So, how he 'died’?" I nodded at the leaving couple.

"Oh, the usual for the vessel. A plane crash. Survived by sister and a cat, apparently."

"Once I would give anything to change places with him. Not the bond thing, the thing with Niflheim." I uttered under my breath. So Lieutenant is going to be there soon too, that's what he meant? Or he prefers calling it Valhalla? He’s not technically a warrior, but... Two evaluations including this one and he’ll be there, Lechner’s right, they'll meet soon. And me? I had to inform him. That I’m not gonna be there. I’m not gonna see him after that. The question is why I want to? And why I think he would want to?

"Though, I always wondered... Well, since appropriate level, of course. Why some of them stay at Asgard levels but some of them like this one have to go to Niflheim ones?" mumbled Eric. I don’t think he understood what I’ve just said. Maybe I had to say it outright?

"That’s because they’re Inheritors. That’s why I wanted to be amongst them. Remember Lieutenant you reminded me of? It’s from The Outer Limits. I saw episode 'The Inheritors’ in childhood and had a huge crush on the Lieutenant who was guiding disabled children into the spaceship to lead them to the planet they inherit. He never came for me though." The Black Rider came for me instead. And even he was late for ten fucking years. "Now I can easily pass the tenth, I know it, but I won’t."

"There’s a rumor that the ones who stay are bonded with orphan dwarves. And ones who 'dies’ are going to Arda to meet the parents." Lieutenant seemed to have paid my depressing monologue no heed.

"Hm... you know what? They’re probably right," I agreed. Or their wives don’t want to set foot on Earth. Like this ones’, I presume.

Oh, the rumors. It’s the basic of evaluation. But I thought it would be just innocent chat? There are many gossips circulating about information of the levels below, anyone knows that the right ones were carefully placed between them, hid in plain sight. Most evaluations from level to level are just a simple test: check the gossip you think is right. Well, I don’t actually know, because I never had evaluation myself. I was forced to forth level from the start – I hadn’t got a choice. It’s the hobbit level, and I am the fucking hobbit. So yeah, maybe that’s why I don’t want to go to Niflheim, because they can’t force me. I’m like a fucking ring-bearer. I can know everything and walk everywhere. Although I know shit and can walk only through Asgard. But it’s an illusion of control. They can’t make me 'die’ even if I’m already dead to the world. Because that’s their own fucking rules! They forced me here but can’t force me infra.

"You’re not new here, right?" I heard through the mist of tiding depression. "And also not human." Lieutenant was staring at the Lechner’s bond. What the fuck he has taken except those Margaritas, for fuck’s sake? There were a couple of versions how he could know such delicate piece of information: a) he knows nothing and just thinks he’s talking to the dwarf he is staring at and the one is obviously not new and not human; b) I am genius at evaluations and also could psychogram into mere humans; c) he is not mere human and I am shit at recognizing elves and pereldar; d) someone messed up my profiles and if he asked it he got the close one (though there have to be the year of my birthday instead of the blank space as in the open one, so why he was so confused about my age then?); e) that dwarf just psychogrammed him. Technically he could but hey, talk to your own bond, douche, not mine... not that he is... my bond... Damn.

"But not elf either." That’s sweet. Why the fucking not? "Though your mother was, right? I mean, another mother."

Ainurs didn’t fucking joke, then. He’s really suspecting something. Well, I’m the rare permanent hobbit dweller here so I get these assignments helping transition to forth level frequently, but boy, is he the smartest of all.

"They say it’s not about hybrids, that it’s not possible, they teach us genetics and comparative anatomy first thing in Asgard. But they’re lying, aren’t they? And not just about hybrids with elves."

"You know that you can’t trust anyone from levels below you?" I bet someone told him, but the rumor system should be working – most gossips were initiated by levels below for levels above them. That was very encouraged entertainment here.

"Yes, I know, you can’t tell me, I’m still at fifth."

"I think, not for long." And I would prefer to talk about it when you’re sober. And I’m on uppers. Damn. "Father."

"What?"

"My father was an elf, not any of my mothers."

"He was orc and elf simu... simulteen...? He was elf as well as orc? Tell me this story when I’ll be at your level." He took my hand and gently squeezed it.

"I promise." I squeezed back.

Yes, they really teach all those levels above that dwarves bond just to feel the need to bear. Enemy Papers are their vade mecum. Dwarves don’t have sex in any of the sense; they need companionship, not lovers. Well, it’s all true. And normally, when they bond with only elves, it’s true to the letter. But with humans...

My mother... My other mother was human. She always used to shout at me pointing at us in a mirror: "See, we’re alike! I’m human, you’re a human! You can’t be alien!" Later, after her suicide, I realized that she was trying to convince more herself than me. She knew I was telling the truth when I was rumbling about my real alien mother who I was talking to in my dreams. But she wanted it to be not true. She desperately needed to have a normal child. She passionately wanted me to be him. And I was not. Not in the slightest. Not the one she thought he would be. Not even exactly 'he'. Her own child. I hated him. No, they didn’t tell me, I knew about him from my real mother. I didn’t even know then he was my brother. Just that when he died I was placed instead of him. As a changeling. These were my first fairy tales.

But hey, it’s not "the innocent chat". It’s very promiscuous conversation. Wrap it up.

 

12.06.12

 It’s me again. I have announcement to make, Dear Diary. Wait, all in due course.

Tonight Lieutenant (do you still remember that hunk?) was sober and I was on uppers, just like I planned for our next encounter. I was at home and didn’t hear his knocking through My Daddy Drives a UFO so he let himself in – the nerve! – and literary fell upon me unawares. I was pogoing like crazy under judging glout of Pocky and didn’t notice how much of the act (that even my serene cat frown upon) Lieutenant caught.

"What the hell are you doing here?" I screeched at him and killed the player. My neighbors sighed with relief.

"Sorry. The door wasn’t locked. I came to listen to that story about your father. See?" He pointed at his level badge. It showed number 4. "And you – still not 'dead’?"

"I told you, I am not in a hurry. You?"

"Well, I don’t want my mother to bury me, so I’ll wait, too. Hi!" He noticed my cat right before crushing him with his admittedly cute bottom. No, Pocky wouldn’t let him do that - he wasn’t sleeping, after all - but it would be nevertheless painful for both of them, so I was glad the collision didn’t occur. "That’s Pocky, is it? Good boy. Is it a boy?" He took the cat and resettled him on his lap. Tezcatlipoca was not amused but abided.

"Yes. He is. Well, not actually, but... He was. Once."

"What’s the breed?"

"Ragdoll."

"So. Do you have someone on the outside?"

"No. Yes. Not in this sense. So... I guess, congratulations?"

"I guess... So... What about that story?"

"What?"

"The story. About your father. I now have clearance to know every elf on the base, so bring it on! Your father was an elf?"

"Yes. He was."

"He died?"

"Yes."

"I’m sorry."

"Don’t be. It was a long time ago and he was an asshole."

"An elf. An asshole?"

"What? You think all elves are majestic and suave? They’re people, they run in all shapes."

"Well, I suppose." Yes, he was also orc, don’t forget. "How he died?"

"A crash."

"Well, that’s the risk, isn’t it?"

"Of what?"

"I thought you said he was in the army."

"I never said he was a vessel, though."

"He didn’t crash in a dragon?"

"No."

"Wyvern?"

"No. He wasn’t a pilot."

"But the song..." For fuck's sake, it's just a fucking song. Admittedly when I first heard Cramps I stil thought he did but... It's still just a song. My dad worked here and I knew this but no, he wasn't driving any UFOs. Well, maybe at Arda...

"He was the chief of security, for fuck’s sake! All this... 1984 we have here now is his doing mostly."

"Oh. -That- Arlington. But he died pretty long ago."

"I told you, I’m much older than it seems."

"Not that older."

"That older."

"Is it the result of hybridization?"

"You tell me; I suspect they’re teaching you something."

"I’m not... sure."

"You’re not sure they are teaching you?"

"Is it the natural color?" He pointed at my bangs.

"Yeah, it’s called Manic Panic Purple Haze Amplified."

"Oh, I remember, I had an order of some crazy dye some time ago. So it was for you. But... Aren’t elves..."

"Man, I don’t know, I never saw dad a la naturelle. Neither hair nor eyes. He even at home wore his lenses and dyed his hair. For all I know he was born blue-eyed brunette like me. I don’t know the fucking color of my heritage. And it can’t descend to a hobbit. So I see they really don’t teach you anything?"

"I had one lesson and... I thought you would like to teach me everything else..."

What the actual fuck? And he’s serious; he’s not just flirting, as I see. You can’t just pick up someone asking him to teach you the level lore.

"Why would I?" I really never did that before. I even slept with a couple of the assignments before but never taught them anything. My job was to determine they have enough to go with into forth level and not to die of shock, but not even evaluate, I’m not ainur. And oh so far from actually teach them anything. I already submitted my report on him, that’s it, end of story.

"I don’t know, I... I thought... I thought you would like... I’m sorry, I’ll go. It was a mistake."

"It sure was. I mean I’m not the best choice, you know. I don’t even sure how hobbits reproduce for instance. I mean... I was premature and then... It’s just in a fog now. Somehow." Damn. I’m rambling.

"I thought you don’t want me."

"No, you’re... alright. But me? I’m not... I’m not a teacher. I never teach. Even the physics, and that’s my profession. I mean..."

"But you’re the hobbit."

"But I’m not a good sample."

"Well, I think you’re the best. Sample. That is..." Marvelous. Now we both ramble.

Okay. I’m the adult one here, pull yourself together. Breath in. Breath out. Oh well, I don't mind if you don't mind.

"Deal."

"Deal. Good."

"Good." Oh shut up. Say something intelligent. You’re a teacher, for fuck’ sake. But while I was searching my mindscape for wise words that would be worth the seminal moment, Lieutenant nonchalantly drawled:

"So-o-o... I suppose your legs are perfectly smooth then."

I choked. That was the worst pick-up line ever. Is this guy for real? "What? Why?"

"Because dwarves are actually extremely bald."

And then I got it. And I exploded. I never laughed so hard in my life. Lieutenant joined in and scared Pocky shitless. Who got up, which was enough unusual by itself, and fiercely attacked Eric.

"You didn’t tell me the story of his name, in return," said Lieutenant after I managed to drag them apart. My poor student was bleeding but nothing I couldn’t fix with peroxide. "One more time, what was the proper name?"

"Tezcatlipoca Necoc Yaotl," reminded I tapping bloody lines with the ball of cotton. "It’s the name of one of the main Aztec gods. It means Smoking Mirror Enemy of Both Sides. The jaguar was this god’s animal so it’s actually makes sense."

"I see. No, really, I see." He pointed at claw’s marks on his arm.

"No. He never behaved like that before, I swear. He actually likes guests. You know, other pets usually are jealous when other people are around their owners, but he was always calm around visitors. I don’t have much of them, though, visitors"

"Well, maybe you have never before given reason to him to be jealous?"

"Then I shall be more careful."

"I should be more careful, too." Good idea. Start by quitting all this flirting, you rascal. Teacher-student ethical shit and all. "At least around him." Pocky mewed in agreement.

So yes, diary. I’m a teacher now. Here, I said that.

 

12.10.12

 I actually designed the curriculum! My troll gave her permission; don’t know about Lieutenant, he never told me how he made them meet his demands. We don’t have to hurry because the level’s addendum doesn’t affect any of his duties, and if they do I should be able to correct him along the way. I scheduled Saturdays as our academic days and called them The Secret Saturdays. Hilarious. I also should make podcast and call it Weird World. Greetings and bienvenue.

 

12.20.12

That’ll teach me not to make decisions while on speed. As they say, more haste, less speed. Because it gives you the feeling that you can do anything. And then you actually can’t. Because, you know, you just can’t.

Why the Black Out didn’t strike me right after the Scare, I wonder. I could just skip the assignment altogether. That would be less devastating. At least Eric wouldn’t see me this way.

When he came to me for our first Secret Saturday I couldn’t even get to the door. And he couldn’t enter by himself as I locked it and even tried to barricade it out of paranoia that came a day before. It always goes like that for me – paranoia, anxiety, panic attack, depression. When it strikes in full force even uppers don’t help much. And it strikes fast. I’m more in favor of the slow burn: you just skipped a year and didn’t notice. It wasn’t a bad year. You just don’t remember it. Not just "I was а little upset so I skipped couple of days”. No. I skipped life per se. It’s not hurting, it’s just dull. But this thing… Too much pain, too much drama. And I’m ashamed of myself afterwards.

The laundry officer, Eric’s subordinate, I presume, unlocked the door. I remember only burrowing myself deeper into the blankets and shouting (though witnesses, I guess, could described it as 'whispering’) "Fuck it! Fuck it! Fuck it!" Too bright light and too loud noises; leave me alone! It’s just like a hangover. It doesn’t hurt while it’s dark and quiet and I’m not moving. And it’s an agony when they drag me out of the cocoon.

Next thing I know I was on antidepressants again and in troll’s office. No. No group therapy. Not many patients with this clearance. We have a couple of hobbits here besides me but not in this drastic condition. So it’s just my brown coat and my counselor. Both fucking incompetent, but hey, they’re just learning. And training. On me. I don’t know how much my psyche is different from human one that it is so puzzling for them. Maybe it’s no different at all. That would be embarrassing.

"We thought you liked the idea of teaching."

"That was your idea." I paranoi-ed this realization. I realized that Eric hasn't thought of this by himself. Well, mostly it’s what started the Black Out. It was the trigger.

"But you liked it."

"Nevertheless it was a pretty shitty idea."

"We don’t think so. And you don’t think so."

"Yes I think so. I don’t know shit and have no teaching bone in me. And he doesn’t have to suffer incompetence." It’s enough that I have to.

"We didn’t choose him for you. We just told him of the state you’re in and he volunteered. He didn’t have to. We didn’t force him. Yes, it was our idea to make you his lore master but he was very keen to do it. I think he’s sincerely concerned about you."

You’re an incompetent fool, who cares what you think.

"You must at least try."

"Well, if I can raise from the bed. If you know what I mean."

I secretly hope that my headache (I seemed to have had some new tones in it this time) is the sign of a brain cancer and I am just glad they didn’t MRI-ed or CATscanned me this time so it can grow in peace. It’s too hard to nurture the fatal disease here with their fucking policy of forced medical exams every couple of months.

But then I surprised myself actually going through the curriculum I made for Eric and thinking what I have to learn myself to teach him. I need to talk to some brown coat. Not my doctor and not his dumb assistant, though. Someone else. But I don’t know anyone else. Damn. I live in this hole a quarter of century and know only a couple of dozen people. I even don’t know all elves. I had to get their list at least.

This whole teaching lark is so tiresome. But surprisingly okay. I even crawled to computer and send via Intranet to Eric: "Homework: write an essay in any form you like on why humans, in your opinion, are so fucked up that dwarves bear with them hobbits and not other dwarves."

P.S. I hope BOB doesn’t come tonight.

Yeah, that was clever reference. Not funny, but hell, how should I know, I'm fucking depressed. What it was, actually? Boy on Boy or Battery Operated Boyfriend? Either way no worries, not in the mood for wobble. Still can, though.

 

12.21.12

I got his essay. It said:

"In my modest opinion humans are so fucked up egocentric that even their genes are extremely intrusive. It’s simply the greed for domination."

I’m in fucking love. This hunk is also a fucking punk! Who would have thought?

 

12.22.12

Our first Secret Saturday. It’s a game 'let’s pretend I believe he needs me’. I know he doesn’t but a girl can dream.

"Okay. What did they tell you before you realized you want me to teach you instead of them? I must know what you already know." I’m sure he was already properly instructed but let’s pretend.

"I was wrong about dominant genes?"

"Well... Let’s say I want to know if they teach it to the people this way, to estimate the damage."

"Well, they said something along the lines. Not the way I put it, mind. But about the dominance of human genes definitely."

"It’s slightly more complicated than that." I didn’t raise from the bed and even wasn’t properly clothed but at least I could talk instead of grumble.

Eric was rambling around my only room trying not to look at my disheveled self. I wasn’t properly clothed but I was definitely clothed so it was probably just politeness - he didn’t want me to feel embarrassed, so sweet of him. But I wasn’t. I actually felt very cozy. Of course the feeling of utter indifference helped much.

"You know, my cousin once removed collects this. Or something like that." Eric found my Secret Saturdays action figures. "He’s six."

"I’m a fan. You can be a fan at any age. Pay attention."

"Sorry."

"'Dominant genes’ is a very poor explanation. Do you remember birds and bees of elves and dwarves?"

"Yes, it’s literal. Birds are elves and dwarves are bees. They can’t reproduce the hybrid between them; they don’t have enough common genes for that. But they can help reproduce each other, well, elves are helping dwarves; elves can reproduce without dwarves but dwarves can’t reproduce without elves."

"Because?"

"Because dwarves are artificial species. And my other cousin has Tokio Hotel on the wall as well! And she’s fifteen!"

"Pay attention!" And let's not clarify what I really listened in my fifteen.

"So dwarves essentially are just clones?" Yes, that's what that dork who leaked us to Stargate think. They even made the episode, no, two episodes, about him, the dork. Dishonored orc, that is. Too high level to know shit but hell, that was funny. Our Norse code, too. Nice. I like him better than Lazar.

"But they’re not actually cloning themselves, are they?"

"No. Not entirely. They’re too complex organisms for asexual reproduction. Too much shit congests." Yes, that, too. Too high level to know the solution, dork.

"So what do they do exactly?"

"How they did explain it to you?"

"Dwarves have the thing they call replicator. And the thing they called transformer. But with humans the transformer doesn’t properly work?"

"Well, with humans nothing properly works. You know why?"

"Because we’re dominant bastards?"

"I adore your answer but no. Do you remember that dwarves are artificial species?"

"I still don’t understand what it means."

"I have my theory but it’s for Niflheim." Well, theory is understatement. I know from my 'another mother’. "But what I can tell you: they were made to match elves. Their reproductive system and their genome. And humans and elves are too different. They don’t have enough common genes."

"They can’t reproduce with each other, humans and elves? But..."

"Only through dwarves. The fact is, when dwarf tries reproducing themself with human nothing goes as planned." And they have more common genes, dwarves and humans, than dwarves and elves, to actually make a hybrid. Not easily and not naturally but... But I can’t tell him that, can I? I can’t tell the forth level that dwarves are actually earthlings. So... what do they tell on the subject to a forth? Well, perhaps nothing more. So I said nothing.

I gave Lieutenant a homework to read the full (well, for this level and for this time) version of The Contract and write an essay on why, in his opinion, dwarves have offered it.

 

12.25.12

Leave me the fuck alone! I’m a fucking atheist and you all are, too! Stop this nonsense with baby Jesus, the fat man in a red suit and flying fucking reindeers, I’m embarrassed for us in front of aliens!

Eric, I will never fucking forgive you. 'It would be fun.’ 'We must share the culture.’ You have to be fucking ashamed of such 'culture’! I want to tell everybody in Asgard that I’m not human just to fucking escape the association.

No, -you- are the buzz kill. You’re killing my buzz. I was going to read. Now I lost the whole evening. Why the fuck these people here at all and not home with their families? They’re not living here. I am!

 

12.28.12

Eric texted his essay:

"I can only suggest that dwarves are in this because elves have their own agenda which we don’t know. I don’t see any reason for dwarves. Or they found out that there is something wrong with their orderly reproduction with elves that the messy thing with humans is not the worst solution. Perhaps they degenerate? Or even become extinct?"

 

12.29.12

The second Secret Saturday.

"Elves have their own agenda? Really?" This time I was even shaven and coiffured. It is getting easier to groom myself and even getting out of bed. Lexapro is working more or less and there are no adverse effects like apathy or anxiety yet as I already told the Moody. I’m not joyful and careless, but it’s alright. "Ain’t you a little conspiracy theoretician?"

"How do you think I got here?" He gestured around.

"Yes, I forgot how you humans get here usually, sorry."

"How do you get here? I became your pupil to know you but we still talking about anything but."

"We will come to that, I promise. But to get to hobbits and c'est-à-dire moi we have to get through dwarves. So no, I will not tell you yet how did I get here but I’ll tell you about my 'another mother’. I will tell you about my ontar. And why he did what he did."

"You’re seeing... him?"

"Not anymore. Yes, I prefer call him 'him’ because he have quite manly character. Well, he’s onona to my father, of course he’s manly. The warrior line. Humans tend to decline that to masculine, not the same thing with elves, mind you. So my father was a man in every human stereotype, not the 'fairy’. All macho. He even had 'man’s badge of honor’ - the scar. Across all the face." I took the action figure of Doc from the shelf and showed it to Eric. "Like this but the opposite side."

"What’s the show, by the way?"

"The Secret Saturdays. Pay attention."

"Oh. So this is you?" He took Zak somehow guessing it right.

"I bleached the bangs before I dyed them lilac, yes. Be thankful you didn’t see that phase."

"I wouldn’t mind," he shrugged.

"I would."

"And he’s mulatto," stated he obvious.

Well, ain’t I a half-breed, too? Pay attention already! Of course you know about ononi, that you had to learn in elves’ class."

"Yes. When dwarf and couple of elves are breeding, they bear a child each. Dwarf bears one child and the couple another, well, the female do, male elves are not... Not?" I shook my head. "So these children are quasi twins. New dwarf is a transformed clone of elves’ child so they bear some common DNA. Almost every dwarf has onona elf. Of any gender. And then they’re doing incest thing. I never understood that, though. They’re inbreeding? How it helps with the whole thing? Inbreeding is as destructive as cloning."

"They’re doing it with other people, they’re getting new genes. The thing with ononi families are more social than biological. It’s less likely for dwarf to find a partner for themself than for their brother or sister."

"Why then dwarves doing this and not elves? Searching for a partner?"

"The social thing, too. Humans also had this tradition to court for the man higher up, remember? You don’t ask them why. For dwarves it’s... I think it’s like one opportunity to do something. They just were through with sitting home. Humans... It’s opposite, their tradition was based on that lords needed be sitting home."

"So with humans... You have onona?" Oh, the gleam in his eyes! I could have a hot sister - he’s saying to himself. Bastard.

"I had. He died from SIDS."

"SIDS?" Come clean, fuckwad, what was more disappointing, the fact that he was dead or that he was anyways a boy? I should have asked this!

"Mors subita infantum, sudden infant death syndrome." I explained instead. "Elf-human hybrids are fragile. There could be hundred things wrong with him. But the official diagnosis..."

"I’m sorry."

"I never knew him. Okay. Not the direction I wanted to go tonight. Later. About my ontar. He told me some things I cannot tell you because... it’s for Niflheim. So I’ll tell you the redacted version. Maybe you even can deduce everything else by yourself, who knows."

"No, I’m dumb," he shook his head with conviction.

Yeah, right, I’ll believe... You’ve sprinted to the forth level within three years all by yourself. You’re dumb, yeah, like hell.

"About the other theory you mention in your essay..."

"The dumb one?"

"It’s not. And you’re not. But the thing is, dwarves are really not content with how the things are with them and elves. But not because it’s not working biologically. It’s... Right... It’s not working politically. And morally. And... other ways. Never had."

"Dwarves are elves’ slaves?"

"Ain’t you a little..."

"...conspiracy theoretician? Yes, elves are the least known quantity in the whole equation. Are you really accusing me of suspiciousness? For all I know they’re the puppeteers of this show."

"You won’t believe me but they couldn’t care less. Literally. It’s their usual attitude."

"Ainurs are all elves, ain’t they? And what about your dad? He clearly cared a lot."

I think I pushed the hot button here... and overpraised the fucker. More the better. Not perfect. Good.

"Think logically, Lieutenant. Ainurs, who are they? They’re psychologists. For humans. But elves don’t know shit about human psychology. They may be good at pretending to be humans but they have very different minds. And not superior, just different. I should know, I lived with one. And no, my dad cared, sure, but only for himself."

"Sometimes I think ainurs don’t know shit about human psychology, too..."

"That’s beside the point. This whole enterprise’s weakest link is a human factor. If they manage it so badly, why this base still stands?" I always splutter that trolls are incompetent, diary, but I know the bitter truth. They’re not getting me better, maybe, but frankly that’s not their goal. The name of their game is the security of this base and they’re doing a good job. Not without hiccups but yes, no one still knows about us for sure. That's the point.

"Next time we’ll go outside." I decided to drop the subject. "Not like outside outside... I’m banned from outside. But we’re gonna walk around Asgard and try to spot some real elves. Later I’ll just give you the list but firstly I want you to humor me how good you can spot hobbits and elves."

"I spotted you, didn’t I?"

I choked. "Oh yes you did, did you?" And he just fluttered his fucking eyelashes and shrugged his shoulders like he’s not the one who just flirted. Again.

Be gone, The Tempter!

The Homework: essay on what do you think are common traits for hobbits.

 

1.1.1.3

I just wanted to say to you, deariry I’m fucking in love. Just dont tell anyone. Espesilly him. cause its wrong. WRONG. Teacher-student etics and shit. And age diffference. And height difference. No, hieght difference is good. Scratch that. Not to mentmention he's straight! ! and, as he pointed. again. not even pedophyle. So SSSHHH!

That was actally a good party. But I became dissacasss sasss. fuck that. I grew out of habit of drinkin. But speed was off-limits (Kevn stilscared out of pants). Sleep now.

Oh! And he spotted 7 elves and 4 hobbits. 1 correctly. PRAUD

 

01.02.13

What the shit was happening on the New Year’s Eve, diary? I definitely can’t drink. I’m too light-weight for my own good. It was really awful night, come to think of it. I don’t remember anything sensible. We were at the party. But it was very small party. I guess the most of the staff gone home at last and some who stayed didn’t want to celebrate two holydays in a raw. So it was cozy. But I knew couple of people and Lieutenant knew couple of people so it was good. Also yes, he guessed correctly one hobbit. I don’t know why I was so proud of him because I introduced her to him as 'another half-breed’ and as she’s also actually snow white as me...

And also: Eric is my new speed? Because this diary became all about him. But I still can’t mention him in the Moody. I have to rename you, dear diary. You were secret speed diary. Now you’ll be my Lieutenant Diary. So know this – if I’m talking about someone and don’t mention the name – it’s him. He became 'him’ by default. And even occasionally 'her’. By the way I recalled one thing from the party: I said to him that long hair would suit him. He said he would try. I didn’t mean he should grow it. I suggested a wig. And maybe even a dress? Why would I do that, I wonder?

P.S.: That fucker (you know now, my dear, by default, who he is ;) left me a gift. With a note. Apparently he’s already on vacation with his mum and Twin. And he’s sorry that the family is incomplete. Well, I have to ask next time what happened to his dad... And the gift is... Holy shit! It’s Mondays! Zak and Doc and Fiskerton and Komodo and Zon all repainted and remodeled to the Mondays. And he’s sorry for this family because there is no Drew. They didn’t release action figure of Drew, fucking misogynists, only mini with some set, so he couldn’t make Drew Monday. But nevertheless best gift ever!

 

01.11.13

He’s back. He just sent his essay:

"I think that the common trait of hobbits is 'cute’. At least it’s the common trait of two hobbits I know."

Yes, little Paulina definitely could be the lucky one :( I even can’t be jealous. She is indeed cute and all. Not sure about her onona though… Never saw him :Р She’s here on permanent because he’s Nazgûl; he’s chasing after other hobbits across the globe. But I hear Nazgûls call themselves now Men In Black. Again. I even didn’t like the third movie. So I guess he's a hard-baked chap in black suit and sunglasses. And calls himself 'agent P’. In my time they were Ringwraiths. And in my time only ring-bearers were doing it, nine humans who knew everything, it was a fucking honor to kick one of those guys in the nuts (and yes I did). Now it’s a huge staff of them out there, more than the letters in alphabet (I don’t know what the ones who didn’t get the letter call themselves – is there ‘an agent @’ somewhere? Or ‘agent Ǽ’?), half of them even didn’t past tenth, just like this one.

 

01.12.13

“So you like Paulina?”

“She’s cute.”

“Okay.”

“Are we gonna spot more elves and… you know who? We can’t actually talk about lore here." We were at the canteen. Our Prancing Pony was covered up with Uncle Sam saying shhhhh and reminding not to 'shop talk in canteen’. But I decided we have to go out like normal people, not just at the parties. That would be good. Maybe. But yes, later we’re gonna move into my cell for the actual lesson.

"Thank you very very much for the gift. How did you guess?"

"I googled the show and stumbled at the familiar name – Tezcatlipoca. So I watched the episode and here you go. Actually on vacation I watched the whole show. It’s about cryptozoology." He leaned across the table. "What the hell, man. Ufologist – I get it. But cryptozoologist? You don’t actually believe in this stuff, do you?"

"Well, actually I do. And I wanted to be a cryptozoologist. It’s so unfair that I had only Ivan Sanderson’s books and not a single toon on a subject when I was little. I so envy modern children. By the way Sanderson had very interesting theories about the origin of UFOs..."

"Cut the crap. There is no Nessi. Dinosaurs now? Nonsense!"

I facepalmed and shook my sides with silent laughter. I forgot how it’s ridiculously amusing but utterly frustrating to talk about lore with levels above. I still have lots to teach him but this one I had to skip. It’s for Nilflheim. Technically we’re on the same level now but thanks to my ontar who had the time to imprint me, here I am, laughing at the joke that no one can understand in whole Asgard. Well, except ring-bearers and dwarves. And I hope no dwarf heard my poor Lieutenant now...

"What?"

"Nothing." I wiped the tears from my eyes. "It was nothing. Sorry."

"This gentleman." He pointed at the grey coat nearby.

"Elf or..?" I whispered.

"Elf."

"Not every feminine gentleman is elf, you know." I tried to recall all engineers in the list but then noticed the number of his level. "For crying out loud, pay attention, he can’t be elf, he’s on eighth level."

"Elves can lie."

"Oh, get over it!"

"I bet they even didn’t give you the real list."

I rolled my eyes. "I rest my case."

He spotted two hobbits and four elves. None correct. But maybe because there were no elves or hobbits at the canteen this lunch...

"So... Your place or mine?"

"We can come to mine. It’s just a shack but it’s outside."

"I’m banned from outside, moron." I snapped.

"Why? You can’t constantly live in the Box, you need sun. No wonder you’re so pale. You need your B and your D."

"I go in sunroom."

"I’m gonna talk to some people about this situation, it’s ridiculous. Even zombies go outside."

"You call them 'zombies’." I giggled.

"They’re kinda dead but not?" gestured he.

"I never heard this one. I call them Shadow Host. It’s from Tolkien," explained I when noticed his puzzled look. "As almost every code word here?" He didn’t read Lord of the Rings? Really? Superb. What he was doing at school?

"I saw the movies. I don’t remember this term."

Good. At least something.

"They’re just... the Dead there, I think."

The homework: read the fucking LOTR already!

"So, why did you name your cat after the Portal into Anti-Matter World?" Pocky was refusing to descend to undignified purring under Eric’s crafty fingers but I wouldn’t mind in his place.

"I happen to name Pocky long before that. He’s ten years old. But it was definitely a bonus. For someone who’s not only physicist but also amateur crypto-archeologist it was very interesting theory. But... you see, common man is so used to anthropomorphize the nature. And this 'oh, if it’s an anti-matter world so that means its good and evil are topsy-turvy’ is just fucking hilarious. Physics has nothing to do with human morale, you morons!"

"It was not a common man. It was a scriptwriter, a... litterateur."

"'Litterateur' is just a common man with a megaphone, mind you..."

"So who’s not... common?"

"Who is not common. Who thinks of nature not like of human’s appendage. Scientists. Even in our enlightened age this type is pretty uncommon, don’t you think? Even here, after all they know, I hear rubbish as... Oh, you saw the Christmas party. How can they do it? Knowing that they’re just a bit of speck?.."

"Well, I think it’s exactly why they do it. To be a bit of speck is pretty frightening, so..."

"Why? Why it’s frightening?"

"You don’t understand this?"

"No. It’s pretty much liberating, to know that you are not under pressure of being the hub of the universe. On contrary I don’t understand how they manage thinking they are. Being religious must be nerve-wracking business. I would break. Wouldn’t you?"

And that, my dear diary, is how I’ve learned something about our fair Lieutenant that I wish I hadn’t. He paused.

"No. Don’t tell me you’re religious." I asked with trepidation.

"I’m not, I’m not some anti-science bigoted idiot," he hurried to deny. "But I’m not anti-religious. I understand why it’s comforting to know there’s something out there."

"No. They don’t 'know’ it, stupid. They think they know. It’s not fucking the same. But you – you actually know for a fact that is something out there. And you know that it’s not what they think. So how can you..."

"One doesn’t rule out the other!"

"For real? No, doesn’t rule out. But makes it certainly the thing you can’t call onto. So now if you choose to warship that something out there it would be your own choice and not of this 'deity’. Because you know for the fact that it has no anthropomorphic features and it cares about you shit. It’s called Nature. And we are just a bit of speck on its face. Very colorful and intelligent speck, I’m not trying to diminish anything, sapienses are unique, but as you know for a fact, not that unique, but nonetheless only specks. And you were laughing at me about Nessi?"

I just don’t know how can I keep working with this man? Well, yes, after that I said that I wanted to be alone and he left. Yes, I chucked him out, so fucking what?

 

01.19.13

I little thought I would see him again. But he was there, on the Saturday, on my threshold. And... Well, I admitted to him I overreacted. I don’t know what came over me. I’m ashamed. So... There.

"I’ve read Tolkien. You’re right, it’s better than movies. And also I read both Eddur. What other sources of our code words are there?"

"You’re still on holyday." I deduced.

"No, actually, after vacation there are lots of work. It’s like it’s storing up when I’m gone."

"And you actually read all LOTR within a week’s time?"

"Tolkien. That was more than... And pretty much all northern myths: Eddur, some sagas, everything I found in the library. And no, weekend. "

"What? It took you to read all Tolkien and all other stuff less time than movies last?"

"I use speed reading."

"Oh," that was all I could say. "You’re speed-reading."

"Yes, also I use method of loci. Not Loki, loci."

"And you’re a fucking supply officer?"

"It helps a lot in work. Especially here. I can memorize the whole shopping list and thus don’t carry the secret documents out the base. Very useful skill. But you were right. I’m still a common man. I’m no scientist. Yes, I know stuff, because I can quickly read it and then accurately remember it. That’s how I always was A-level student. But I can’t do anything with this knowledge. I just... watch it. I’m not questioning it. That's what scientists do. They question and see patterns and then boom! – they discover, they invent. I don’t. I tried - no luck. I just repeat what others say. But that’s why I wanted to learn from you. You’re not just the keeper of knowledge like the lore master and I’ve seen them all. You are scientist. I wanted to learn how you do it. But... I understand that it’s... that it was a dumb thing to do. Obviously. So if you don’t want to see me anymore..."

"No, I want to see you. And teach you. I don’t know how but... Come in and stroke Pocky. Wait a minute. But you figured out I’m not human. How?"

"I just heard some rumors."

"No. No. You see, the process of transferring from level to level is practically guessing which rumor is true. So the question is how did you know it was the correct one?"

"I didn’t. I addressed everyone on the list. If the rumor was false – nothing happened. If the rumor was correct – I got an 'A’. That’s how I got this low only in three years. Well, that’s how I got here in the first place. And that’s why I’m constantly blabbering rubbish. Not because I believe in it but because I’m cold reading. I’m a fraud."

"Why the fuck did you tell me this?"

"I’m at the bottom of what I’m willing to go, so... Now there is nothing they can do about it even if you tell them, and I’m pretty sure you won’t. But I’ll understand if you..."

Firstly I was indeed disgusted but then it flashed upon me: "You’re a fucking Kirk!"

"Excuse you?"

"Kobayashi Maru. There are no rules because the aim is not what it seems. This method is no worse than any other. And this method is actually pretty smart. You know, I was 'cheating’ too. I was born hobbit. And I had time to bond with my ontar. And I’m male-type who got pregnant. The famous trio leading right to the bottom of the Box. I’m above Niflheim only because they can’t force me."

"So you’re not angry?"

"No. It's good. Just stop repeating rubbish after everybody and we’re good."

"Even after you?"

"If I talk rubbish - even after me. That’s the first rule of independent thought. Now. I taught you. Learn."

"So I can mock you about Nessi?"

"Only if you’re thinking it’s ridiculous. Not your mama. Is she religious?"

"I thought in childhood that it’s pretty cool. It’s actually pretty much like science... No, let me finish. In the way that it’s not just watching knowledge. You’re doing something with it."

"Yeah. Ignoring knowledge is pretty much like making something with it. It totally makes sense." I shook my head 'no’.

"Well, I had not much experience in other direction. And it got me here. I just assumed that believing in flying saucers is no different than believing in god."

"But not believing in Nessi?"

"You have to draw a line somewhere, young man," he said with, I assume, his mama’s tone.

"Let me broaden your horizon, young man. We have to talk about the comparative... no, not anatomy... er... well. What was the essay about?"

"Common traits for hobbits."

"Yes. It actually sounds pretty racist... But hell, it’s a race, and it has its own traits. Okay. What traits we have from dwarves, do you think? If dwarves were human?"

"You would be short."

"Correct."

"And bald."

"False. Actually about that. Most of first-generation hobbits have black hair and black eyes because it's dominant, like default option."

He looked me in the eyes. I defended myself:

"I’m the exception."

"Oh."

"Yeah... That’s why I said 'most’. Okay. Next. You see – you’re thinking, you see patterns and draw conclusions."

"I’m not. I don’t know what’s next."

"I’ll give you a clue: for dwarves it’s physical, for hobbits it’s not. Most of the time. We have human’s... this. But we have dwarf’s attitude toward this. Well, no, not the other one... but yes."

"You utterly confused me," he said in awe.

"It has three letters."

"Ear?.. ...s."

"Er... Somehow you’re right. But I was thinking of something else. Okay. I’ll tell. It’s sex. Well, gender... I set this wrong." I realized.

"Dwarves have no sex. In both senses. You said it still stands."

"It’s not actually true. Dwarves are essentially female. They have very primitive system, but it’s definitely female. They have system alike bird’s but much worse."

"Yes, they can’t actually have more than one child because all system is the egg; it’s building around the embryo and leaves the body with it."

"Yes. Sometimes it’s egg with twins but... Yeah. You can’t have more than one. It’s not reusable."

"The same with hobbits?"

"No."

"Oh. Good."

"No, we have the same thing – the system builds around the embryo and leaves with it, but we can build another system instead of the one we lost. For male type it's the only solution - to grow it when it needed and discard of it when not. But we were talking about gender. I really messed it up, I had to establish the difference. Sex is physical, gender is psychic.

"You said you have the same attitude as 'essentially female’ dwarf? How’s that?"

"It means we believe we have no gender but essentially we’re of female sex, if female is being able to bear children. It all has nothing to do with sex we inherited from humans."

"So you have two sexes - the human one and the dwarf one. And have no gender."

"Yes. And that's why male types can get pregnant, too, because they have that "essentially female" sex they inherited from dwarf. And that is the work for Nazgûls. Or M.I.B.s as they call themselves. Paulina’s onona - he is one," slipped I accidentally on purpose. Lieutenant paid no attention. Hey! Does it mean he’s not interested in her? Or does it mean he already knows and doesn’t mind? Oh, come on, I’m behaving like a schoolgirl! This morning yet I was totally sure I am not interested in him. "Female type can live throughout her life and never know, though. No one ever notices that it's a hybrid system. Well, it's also work for M.I.B. to make sure no one looks too close.

"What happens to the babies of male types?"

"This is your homework."

I guess he wanted to ask what happened to my babies... I'm sure I already blabbed out about their existence.

 

01.25.13

I still didn’t get his essay. I’m slightly concerned. Which means I couldn’t be able to fall asleep...

P.S.: I send him letter through Intranet and he messaged me back that he’s alright but he’ll bring the essay tomorrow. There was too much work today, he’s tired.

 

01.27.13

 That was... I’m gonna Black Out if I’ll put in into writing.

P.S.: No, I’m gonna Black Out if I won’t. I don’t know. We’ll see.

He was late. But I already knew he was tired so I wasn’t worried. He came at noon. He checked me out from the threshold, smiled, found the closet with his eyes and flung off:

"Get your coat, we’re leaving."

"'Prancing Pony' has faulty conditioner?"

"We’re not going to canteen. You’re hungry? We can stop by."

I really was hungry so we stopped by and grabbed takeout. I guess I already knew where we’re going to...

 And next thing I know – we’re at the minus first floor by the door I never knew was there.

We scanned and door flashed green, and opened.

"Is there something new?" The minus first was fully developed when I first arrived here but who knows.

"Yes. The exit."

"What happened with the old one?"

"It still exists. It’s just this way it's much nearer to my place. And the exit by Slater Lake is now only for dwarves and such. They need their sun, too."

"But I’m banned," realized I. "How?"

"Collected some debts. And under my responsibility."

"You don’t know me. I might bolt," I said ironically.

"You won’t. Not today. You can’t improvise the escape and you had no time to prepare."

"So... it’s the only time I will see the sun then? Or you’ll be taking me out every time like this – unaware? But I still can just plan everything in advance and wait for you. I even can include you in the plan. I can bribe you or something. With the... What do you want? "

"Take you out."

"Okay," I quickly agreed thinking he’s being bribed with the date with me.

"I suppose I really do take you out. I hope it’s not the last time though. You really need your sun and it’s cloudy today. And drizzling."

I scanned the retina in the door at the end of the new tunnel expecting the red light and siren but it went green. Lieutenant scanned his and we entered. He pushed the button and elevator started moving. I don’t know what I was thinking then. Of course I couldn’t escape without preparations even if I knew now how. You either have provision for at least twenty days or you have a transport from 375th. I checked: I had one three-decker with tuna and small juice carton. I had my leather coat, though. At least I won’t die from exposure.

"The Bald Mountain is beautiful today, though. Green."

The Bald Mountain? Green? In the middle of winter? Green like... 'go’? Is he... What? Breaking me free? He has someone to pick me up on ET High? Or I’m simply pronoi-ing?

"All up to the top. All green. Beautiful." Nope. He’s fucking serious. As if I can climb the Bald. I never was an athlete and my lifestyle during last decade was far from active.

But when we got up and stepped before the door of the hangar that lead outside I finally realized what is going on. Despite the metal taste the Quonset hut already had a different air. It was so long since I breathed so fresh one.

We scanned and I expected red again, after what he told me in the elevator. But it was green. Green all up to the top... And then it was bright. And cold. And wet. And all the things.

"Shhh..." he said when I found myself in his arms. Legs were numb but feelings were coming back to me. Slowly.

"Shhh... It’s alright. I got you," he was whispering. I looked and it was pretty dull actually, not that bright as it appeared at first sight. And it was chilly but not so cold. Misting, not so wet. And I didn’t chock and didn’t go blind and started feeling Eric all around me and it was no less wonderful than everything else.

"I’m alright. Just overwhelmed. No biggy."

"Come, I have a bench by my house."

And we went to the grossly huge house behind Supply Office. And we sat down on the bench.

"It’s not green." Bald Mountain was brown lightly powdered with white just like it has to be this time of year.

"And you’re not gonna climb it. I said it to distract them." whispered he loudly.

"You’re distracting them with the notion of me escaping? From what?"

"From you escaping. Here on this bench is a free zone. I still have bugs inside but this bench is invisible. Sometimes my clients need privacy. Sometimes my clients are very high-rank. And even very low level. So I have this bench."

"Okay. So you are really breaking me free?"

"I’m taking you out. You see... I did my homework. So this is my essay. You said 'in any form you like’. And I would like you to be with your child."

"You’re crazy."

"You may eat this; I have provision for you. You’ll go with me after couple of hours. I have compartments in my van that security don’t know about. Yes, I’m a part-time smuggler, how do you think I got all this," he gestured at the house.

"My! You really are a gift from God for a wannabe runaway." And I start eating. The hunger became nauseating. After last piece was properly swallowed I added: "But you forgot that I don’t believe in God. And also, that you might not know, I don’t want to escape."

"Why?"

"Firstly, I don’t know where my children are. So if I escape I won’t be with them. The only people who have any information on their whereabouts are here. Secondly, I’m too fucking old for this shit. And finally... This," I gestured around. "Is already a wonder."

"And this you shall have. Every living day from now on."

I giggled and mocked him: "The mighty smuggler with an invisible bench. That was so believable I nearly shit myself. The house is also not yours I presume."

"No, mine is next one," he pointed at the real shack down the 'street’."

"Figures."

"At least it’s not in the barracks," he nodded in that direction.

"That’s the plus, yes. You have something of a privacy."

"Well, something of... Coming for a drink?"

"You bet!"

We moved towards the Lieutenant’s house a couple of steps but then I returned to the bench and put thumbs up for the unseen audience:

"That was really hilarious, guys, really. Thank you. Had a good laugh. But next time just fucking ask me!"

His home is nearly austere. But strangely cozy. I didn’t ask Eric why he did what he did. But I guess he’s ready to lie for me, if even to me. So... Steal for me, maybe even punch for me? I’m starting to doubt his IQ.

But Lieutenant doesn’t invent the rules of the game so he did what he could in these circumstances. I was trolled. So... Not the first time. Afraid not the last one, too.

Even indoors it felt that it is actually outside. The windows, for one. I stood by the one with a view to the east ridges with a glass of gin in hand. And the air. Even without the wind it was natural, not like that conditioned one in the Box.

"I used to, in my teens, watch the base from the Freedom Ridge." I pointed at the one. "I calculated where is the enter leading under the Lid. Numbers never lie. There were too many people simultaneously under the roof of one building. So it had to have some minus floors."

"Freedom Ridge was closed in 1995. Now it’s just Tikaboo. The next one," he pointed in the window. "Of course now nothing’s better than the satellite images. But nobody calculated there is an underground facility. After Lazar they just assumed it’s on Papoose Lake. In the mountain. No one ever thought of the false bottomed lake!"

"Who said I shared this with someone? I hated my father, yes, but don’t forget I kinda knew there is where my ontar is, or was, too. So I wanted to get in here but I didn’t want an angry mob to follow."

"When I was commissioned I had to lie to my friends, too. It’s like... You know that anecdote about some spiritualist who said to his friends before his death that he would let them know if there is something beyond. And there are still no signs from him. In truth it could be two explanations to this. Yes, first one is 'there is no life after death’ but second one is 'after death you’re just under secrecy act’.

"I relieved myself from heavy load of lying. I just... I couldn’t. How can you lie about something like this? But how can you say the truth? I just stayed here. I couldn’t look Wynn in the eyes. Just..." I swallowed. "I was in Vegas couple of times after this, but... Now I actually regret it. I could live on outside. Outside outside, I mean. There. Somewhere. Anywhere. But it’s anti-depressants talking. And they say depression lies..." I smirk and shook my head.

"But you still could live... There. Why did you refuse today?"

"Because I know it wouldn’t be better. Outside is... I missed the sun, the wind, the rain... I didn’t miss the humankind." And I kinda guessed that it’s a set-up...

"You actually be surprised."

"Oh, I heard. Black president, gay rights and so on. Good. Good for you. Good for them. Maybe I’m just grumpy old man, don’t mind me."

"I know you’re older than me but stop yammering about your age. You’re looking like a damn baby."

"They never told you my real age, did they?"

"No."

"Forty-seven."

He frowned.

"So you’re not pedophile, deary, you’re gerontophile." I uttered sinisterly. It’s me who’s a pedophile – moaned I inwardly. It’s him who’s fucking baby.

"How old is your child?"

"I had twins. And it’s twenty-three."

"Oh," he realized.

"Yeah..."

"It’s not..."

"No. It’s not you."

"I already know what they do with hobbit babies but I still don’t understand why. And how can I work for these people. And how can you live here. That’s a big big mess."

"First they promised me to let me see them. I thought I was special – how foolish of me – so I trusted them. And then... Just... Years went by." I shrugged.

"Do you... want to... see them?"

"Sometimes I don’t. They’re grown up now. They either don’t know about me or think I’m a bad person who abandoned them. Either way I’m no use for them. So... Sometimes I don’t want to see them. Or rather... them to see me. They’re better off. It’s not too bad really. There are thousands of parents who gave up their children due to circumstances, not because they wanted to. So... Just that."

"I don’t understand why they didn’t let you raise them. I don’t understand why they don’t let anyone raise their own children. It’s just wrong."

"They say it’s not so bad if they weren’t imprinted. When I hatched the rules were not so strict. My ontar had time to imprint me, that’s why he could visit me in dreams. We had a bond. He wanted to raise me at Arda. But my onona died and father begged ontar to give them me instead. He though mother will get better. I think she almost kidnapped some other’s child or something that father was really desperate and ontar agreed. But... They didn’t understand that she was out of her head not from grief but because she had a mental disorder. I firmly believe it was bipolar one but she was never diagnosed. Firstly, they both were aliens and just thought that it’s normal for humans, and secondly humans back then knew little about human psyche, too. So... When I left for college, she gassed herself in our car. Dad paid for all my education in advance and crashed in the same car against the tree. Yes, perfect solution, asshole."

"I’m sorry. My dad died when I was four. I remember little about him. Did you imprint your children?"

"I don’t think so. I wanted but... I didn’t know how and don’t think I had time. Either way I don’t feel the bond. Sometimes I dream about them but I don’t think it’s legit."

"And what about your ontar?"

"I kinda stopped seeing him when I was fifteen. For a bit I even stopped believing in him. But when I was pregnant and was already here he came – in person – and assured me he won’t let them take the babies. So I just... I didn’t fight for them. I really trusted that bastard. But they took’em and he didn’t intervene. I never heard him or even from him since. Maybe he offed himself, too. Clearly it’s a family curse. I myself tried three times. Now I changed my mindset from aggressive to passive aggressive – now I just really want some bad disease happen to me. Some of it for to die sooner and some of it to feel physical pain instead of... I tried cutting but it just didn’t... cut. It’s not the same when you’re controlling it. I want to go outside again. Please? I want to take the air."

We came outside the shack and I lighted a cigarette. Lieutenant looked at me very disapprovingly.

"What?"

"You wanted to take the air to pollute it?" He wrinkled his nose. "Someday it will kill you."

"That’s the idea."

"Don’t."

I looked him in the eyes. It was pain in them or it was just the reflection?

I dropped the butt.

"They’re male types?"

"M?" Who is he talking about?

"Your children. Any of them is male type?"

"It’s a boy and... a boy. Why?"

"If one of them gets pregnant, what would happen?"

"I guess... I guess they get them here. It doesn’t mean they’ll let me..."

"Pauline’s brother is M.I.B., is he?"

"Yes..."

"And Pauline is a hobbit. She’s female type and all but I think they both could be very sympathetic."

"That’s the possibility, yes. So if I became a grandma...?"

"It’s rather 'when’."

"Well... It's rather 'if'."

 

02.01.13

I was working this whole week. Just because, as I found out, outside was still restricted for me without the Lieutenant’s escort – even to the Slater Lake. So I was anxious and bored and went to work. It was still boring there but now I had no expectations for the work. I just needed distraction. So I calculated some shit and made some models that were also unbelievable shit... But at least I wasn’t pacing as a caged animal in my cell. The animal that sniffed the taste of freedom. And, if to be absolutely honest, of heat. I don’t think I’m reading this all wrong. Tomorrow it will be our last lesson. And then... Then we will be forced to rethink our relationship. It will be determinated in some ways by this same lesson.

There was no essay in my box. I forgot to set him homework. But there was the note.

"I’m sorry for being inaccessible this week – lot of work. And I found out only now that I still required as your escort. That was stupid of me, sorry, I had to ask full list of terms sooner. But tomorrow you will get your sun. Still not literary if the forecast can be reliable but there is some kind of wind and some kind of rain if you missed them. And a LOT of air. X"

The fucking 'X’.

 

02.03.13

Well, it went well...

"Johnny Depp. He looks like a baby."

"Yes, he could be. Not the baby. I’m not Nazgûl and all but he definitely could be."

"Helena Bonham Carter."

"Who?"

"Female type version of Johnny Depp."

"What?"

"Oh come on! The one whom Tim Burton married instead of Johnny."

"I really don’t know what you are talking about. And you have to be careful with female types. Childlike features and woman’s features are very alike most of the time."

"Okay. I’ll guess only male types. Elijah Wood. He is literally hobbit. And Morgan Freeman. And all other... hobbits... What?"

"That could be, yeah... But I’m pretty sure it’s not Morgan." Eric was trying to guess hobbits amongst celebrities while we were walking to the elevator to the Slater Lake. And I was trying not to lose my cool. Soon I’m gonna be cold and wet again! Whee!

"I can’t understand if Alan Cumming is just gay or hobbit."

"Could be both. And he’s bi. Well... That will be the theme of our lesson. Last official lesson." I sighed. "The hobbit: the race, the gender and the orientation. Do you know something of human sexuality?"

"I’m pretty familiar with it, yes. I can list everything I’ve read..."

"No."

"No one wants to hear my lists and I have plenty... But I’m pretty sure I’m familiar."

"I know you’ve read and remembered everything, but are you familiar?"

"Oh... I had a girlfriend once."

"Just one?"

"I know I’m pretty popular but I can’t just... I have to fall in love first. And it happened only once."

"Okay..."

"Before..." he sighed.

Or it was just a wind – we just came out of the building – I couldn’t tell...

"Well, the point is – hobbits are too complex for human sexual grades, so you just have to associate their gender identification and sexual orientation with their race. Id est my gender is hobbit and my orientation is also hobbit. But more crucial: every hobbit is unique individual and their idiosyncrasies are also unique. It has respect to every human, too, but let’s pretend you humans somehow different and can be divided into piles, shall we... I’m not expert on humans."

"I’m familiar with queer theory."

"What’s that?"

"An attempt to deconstruct human sexuality with... deconstructing it."

"Let’s just settle upon John Lock for now."

"I’m familiar with his work, yes."

"Good. But the fact is the hobbits are coming from the race with no gender and sexuality as such, so our tabula is rather more rasa. So we just can’t blend in. Even having no conscious memory of our ancestry. It just seems all wrong with human society, you know. Even if one’s gender identification and orientation mainly coincides with one’s type one can’t associate oneself completely with human sexuality. One of course can be silent about it but mostly it’s pretty obvious. We rather associate ourselves with deviations. Firstly, because it’s easier to join some group than establish your own individuality; and, secondly, because of the negative voice hobbit obtains through this cognitive dissonance I told you about."

"I can’t think of you as of a man." confessed he.

"That’s good. But don’t think of me as of a woman, too. And as of a child! I am neither. I am hobbit. I’m not bisexual either. I’m hobbit. You got it?"

"Of Bag End. Yes. I understand."

"Good. It wasn’t too aggressive? I’m sorry if it seemed so."

"No. It’s alright. I get it. Negative voice."

"Thank you."

Trees! Water! Grass even! We reached the Slater Lake and I was lost for the conversation. The fucking bliss. The oasis.

P.S.: He came tonight after noon and took me there once more. Said he can get lunch with me during week in his house or in The Last Homely House West of the Mountains (I don’t know; do they really call canteen outside in this particular manner or he’s just overread Tolkien).

 

02.07.13

I have no time to write. Literary. I have time to note "alive" in mood table and then I be off to the elevator. We’re lunching in his house now mostly as we deem Midgardians rude. I heard old joke today. I thought nobody tells it anymore. It goes:

"How’s Asgard? Still guards ass?"

Nope, apparently we still do.

I wish I could just tag audiotapes of our conversations. I know they exist somewhere... in there. There are no invisible benches in this forsaken place, I know there are records. Nobody listens them anyway. So I wish I have them all and just input stage directions in between like: "we came out of the Last House", "I whewed inwardly", "he took my hand". That has actually happened, by the way.

The trail narrows, Diane. I'm close, but the last few steps are always the darkest and most difficult.

 

02.10.13

This I have to put down because the latest conflict with Midgardians, which I made only passing mention of, took a sudden turn.

We were at the Slater again and it was marvelous but fucking cold. So after noon Eric appropriated a car and we drove all the way to his house. I haven’t been in a moving car since forever. Down below we now have Segways for commuting but outside everyone who wants to enjoy freedom of movement have to have their own car.

He had no food in the house so we stopped by The Last Home to get a takeout.

I totally understand why they don’t like us. Asgardians are roaming wherever they like whereas for Midgardians there are prohibited not only Underground but even parts of their own Ground. It hurts, I get it. I really do. What I don’t understand is why it has to be me who gets the slur because, you know, I was granted access to Ground only a week ago. I can fucking relate, stop taking it out on me.

Last time it was just very obscure conversation about asses and now this. We were directly regarded as an ass-guardians. With gestures to illustrate.

But the why I have to put it down tonight is what was next. When we get to the house Eric stated with a sigh:

"When I tried to say something about those indecent behaviors to the station commander he said we have to protect only dwarves, not hobbits. He actually said hobbits are just "byproducts" and we have no obligations. I am so pissed at this."

"Our station commander is Balrog and it speaks for itself. I never understood why orcs’ boss is not a ring-bearer. And by the way human ring-bearers aka Nazgûls actually have hobbit-only priorities if you ask me. And why you reported such insignificant thing by-passing your immediate superior?"

“Insignificant? As you can see it wasn’t just one incident. You know that you can’t get in here with xenophobia. It just can’t be right. They can’t be here. If it’s happening it means we’re compromised."

"So you have to talk to ainurs, not orcs."

"Yeah, but it’s them who allowed this filth into the base."

"You’re not overreacting, do you? It was just a joke. Not actually a new one, too. No one at the surface knows who I am. Hell, half of them even don’t know who dwarves are. You expect of them sophistication? I don’t think they would behave like that in Asgard. Well, I don’t think they’ll get to Asgard if they’re serious. But it’s a joke. Asgardians were telling about guarding ass, too, when I first came here."

"You didn’t hear what he said to me, then? Or you’re thinking it’s alright?"

"What he said to you?"

"That I should 'guard my ass’. From you, it is."

"Oh fuck. No, I didn’t hear that part. Erm... So that’s why you were so stressed up. I’m sorry. But... To clarify: it unnerves you because it’s a rape joke or because it puts the thought in your head that I might have views on your ass? Which is lovely, by the way. The ass. Woops. Now you know I was indeed viewing your ass or how would I know that it is lovely."

That was so fucking unseemly. I don’t know what came over me. Poor Lieutenant. He blushed like a Santa Claus straight from North Pole and shot out:

"I refuse to let the process of our relationship be rushed by some homophobic joker or even be associated with this... misadventure."

I was literary stunned. 'the process of our’ what? Fuck and fuck squared. So it’s true. He’s really into me, too. It’s not just my wishful thinking. So yes, Diane. I have to tell you this. I’m not gonna rush him, so I shut up. I will only wait. Patiently. Shit. When I turned from "avoid of even thinking of that" to "I can’t hardly wait"? It shall be disaster, and you know it. Scientific proof:

 

pros

 

NONE

well... he’s perfect in every way. And he's not my son!

not sure it’s pro, though, that he's perfect. I gotta find the flaw.

I’m in love with him

 

cons

he could be my son!

straight!

student! (I’m still his curator on this level)

I love him

 

See? It can only end in Third World War, no less.

02.16.13

For the whole week we didn’t see each other. I guess Mr. Process of Relationship was too embarrassed. And wanted to cool off. Or, and I deemed exactly that, I spooked him away. I was so numb about it that even didn’t put anything down. I just stopped dead. I even don’t want him to love me. I’m bad for him. I’m a fucking nuisance everybody’s just trying not to mention. I’m forty-seven years old and have nothing of my own. I’m a charity case. And yes, I stopped working again. Because I don’t see why I have to go there.

But he turned up today. We went to the Slater and talked. Obviously he was just embarrassed I found out about his unresolved feelings like that and wanted to cool off a bit. Not... you-know-what. His words didn’t assure me I was wrong. But everybody knows I’m paranoid even on psychotropics.

I wanted to assure him I’m patiently waiting but hasn’t found the words. I’m not even sure I am. I mean it’s not strange to find yourself in love but actually loving someone... And knowing now it’s not even something you can’t live without. Big deal, love. It never turned up true to advertising. Sure I loved some people in my time but I didn’t die when I found myself alone again. I’m not even lonely. This relationship thing is actually a nerve-wrecking business and my condition is not ideal for that, you know. I’m a third-generation bi-polar... explorer. No, I'm not bipolar, I never had high highs, only low lows. I actually envy bi-polars... All huskies are eaten, there’s no space left in the diary... I’m not that into human relationship at all. Even with inhumans. My dad chose to be dead with mom than alive with me, my ontar left me, too. I wasn’t much loved even by my own parents, judging by their actions. And my own children are not much loved, too, judging, again, by their parent's actions...

I showed him The Dark Child. As part of tutoring. New Outer Limits are constant embarrassment. I hated retelling of Inheritors but this is positively sick.

So I asked Eric the question: what has happened?

Of course he guessed the same thing as me: the necklace was a genetic memory device. Dwarves have nothing like that, by the way, they have family memory, though, it’s when you gain memory of your living relatives through the bond, so it’s something like that, because they also have had memories of the previous generation like that and those previous to them and so on.

So then – if green glowing is the memory function, then hands, too, have the same effect? He didn’t want to strangle her, he wanted her to remember, really remember what happened at the ship and before that.

I even know what could happen in real world. Some adventurous ononu wanted to be with their loved ones who happened to end together (early ones was so unregulated that it could happen, later they thought better and started separating children completely). They somehow obtained the data of their whereabouts and escaped Black Riders. That’s why they were in so hurry and that’s why they said they would find other families, the data was more than just for them, as it likely would be the whole file of addresses. They were rebels! As I once was.

Sometimes I think it wasn't a leak, and this script was commissioned by trolls. To warn off the likes of me, with my few "incidents". Warning that even if I found my sons, they won't understand, they will deem me a monster be disgusted and even probably kill me for nothing. Well... Has it worked? I’m outside and still hasn’t bolted. Well, only because I still can’t obtain the data I need... That is very meaningful suspension point here. I need those addresses.

 

02.17.13

He saw you, Diary. Don’t blush much. He didn’t understand it’s you. He even didn’t understand you’re not by one Laura Palmer as your fake cover states. You’re in the clear. For now.

But fuck and double fuck it could be anyone! Well, who could be in my cell. A couple of people. Not everyone of them is so innocent and unaware like Eric.

So I better not fall asleep over you anymore. And scribbling profanities about my real plans even the secret diary can’t handle, not somehow otherwise! Fuck my brain. Fuck everything. I don’t want to tear the page out; it would be too fucking authentic. So let’s pretend I didn’t write it.

 

02.21.13

"So you decided 'If aliens are true, why not god?'" I was pretty sure I got it this time.

"I didn’t believe before, I mocked it joining ufologists. And yes, if this nonsense, as everyone thinks, is actually a reality, why not other nonsense? Maybe there is more to it than just nonsense. Not everything, I’m not telling the Bible is literary true, for god’s sake, they had a contest for The New Testament, and there were four winners. Four! You can’t say more than that that it’s all bollocks and nobody knows anything. But what if? But you don’t like this theme."

"No. I’m adjusting. And actually getting to know you. I didn’t ask you that time anything I should ask. Like this. So you aren’t religious because of your mother."

"No, and I’m not 'religious’. I’m just... Well, I think I’m believing agnostic actually."

"Oh. Okay."

"Actually I’m against the religion like institution. You know, with my mother and all... I know that most of the time she’s harmless but... You see, religion gives this power to make good people into bad ones. Like any institution with bad things in it. She’s kind but she thinks that if she’d be kind to "sinners" she won’t be good. And "a sin" is such a tricky word. You don't have to explain and prove that something is bad, naming it 'the sin' is all you need. And that's fuck up. You can't argue with someone if their only argument "but it was named a sin"."

"Maybe you just had to explain to her that Jesus actually was kind to sinners? I really don’t understand how they call themselves Christians with slogans like "God hates" someone. I’ve read the Bible. As I understood the New Testament strikes out the Old one. And I like Christ’s philosophy. I can’t understand why I’m more Christian than overwhelming majority of self-proclaimed Christians, and I’m an atheist. Believing in his divine origin is not the aim of this book. Philosophy is. Devine origin was the ancient trick to woo voters, nothing more."

"I think it’s because it begun like rebel thing, free thing."

"And fell into a trap of power. I think they can’t see that they became the philistines themselves. It’s sad really."

"By the way, you said that time that we can’t call on it. What did you mean?"

"What?"

"That time, you said: 'No, doesn’t rule out. But makes it pretty certainly the thing you can’t call onto.'"

"Oh. Well, it means you can’t call onto it. Him. You can call him, but he won’t understand. You see, If he’s the Creator of all. Now we know that 'all' is very big, infinitive from our perspective at least. So if he created it all... He just can’t be the one who can understand you."

"The boy and the anthill."

"Well, not the best analogy. It was when they thought the Earth is flat. Now it’s like the boy and the particle. And the thing is the boy and particle in his body can’t communicate even through observation and the observation is pretty hard if you know what I mean. He can only theorize but never actually see. "They seem behaving rather strange" – the boy thinks. "Have I created them?" Yes, technically you did. They are your particles. You are their god. "Really? Can I do something for them? I can make them good by maintaining my good health." Well, it can work for good percent of your cells but I don’t think your particles would benefit from this much. It doesn’t work this way for them, I’m sorry. You even can’t tell what is and isn’t good for them specifically. We can theorize but... You can’t relate to a particle. Not really. Can't anthropomorphize. And this is just from his perspective. Now you imagine that you’re a quark."

"No, thank you."

"Well, I can."

"You’re a physicist."

"Yes I am. I can imagine myself being some beauty bottom quark," flirted I subconsciously. "So if I’m a quark. Does it matter for me if I’m in a boy, who is sentient, or in a rock, which is not? I really can’t tell any difference from where I am. Nor do I care. And anyway I’m so unstable that I’ll probably decay into charm one anyway. And the boy can do something for certain for me here. In theory. If he had the LHC. But for all them b-quarks? Does he want to? What would happen if all b-quarks in his body would live as long as they want? And are you sure that decaying is bad for me? Maybe I want to be charming. You see? The particles can really be intelligent but we can’t know it. From the god’s perspective the humankind managing in its own very bizarre but natural ways. And science actually proves that these ways are natural. Our vaunted self-conscious which has to divide us from nature is not visible from afar. The same as His. So are we all just a part of it, The Nature?"

"In this light even if it’s true that god interfere sometimes he can’t know what he is doing from our perspective. So that’s why we can’t call on him even if he’s sentient and not just nature. I see."

"No tools of communication. Communication with rocks are more efficient that with god. We have way more in common."

 

02.23.13

"Why do you think they made twelve levels instead of Dante’s nine?"

We couldn’t get outside today so instead we investigated the innards. The main shaft is cool. I thought they blocked the access long ago but no. They made it recreational zone. Now it’s resembling Babylon hanging garden.

"Technically it’s thirteen if you count profane. But instead I would ask why Dante made nine? Twelve I understand, it is dozen, what's nine?"

"If you count from the bottom zero it is actually nine levels to the top."

"Oh. About the dozen. We have this professor in our lab. He's German and calls dwarves 'zwölves'. It's because some of them have polydactyly and good portion of those are of with six fingers. He's persuaded that the significance of the dozen in our history is from them - he believes they came here long ago. And also Zwölf is similar to Zwerg, dwarf in German. And he panics now because it's the thirteenth year. Superstitious idiot. Of course about them being here from long ago he's right."

"Oh, don't give me that. I heard this rumor. Too convincing."

"Actually as a cryptozoologist..."

"Oh shut up," he pushed me in the shoulder playfully.

"I bet in Nilfgard I could be cryptozoologist officially. I bet in there they know it's a legit science."

"Well, I don't want to go there, then."

"I thought you didn't want to go there for another reason."

"If you decide to go... Do you understand that I will go, too?" He asked looking in the depth of the shaft where Niflheim supposedly is.

"I'm not sure we're at the right point of the progress of our relationship that I can understand that," I blankly stated.

He turned my face to him and kissed it.

"Now we are," whispered he.

 

02.25.13

You will think that we did it right away. And maybe he did think that, too, that we should. When we were back in my cell he kissed me again, stronger, needier. I felt his heat all over me. It wasn't just a kiss, we even weren't just making out, it seemed full-on foreplay. It was so fucking easy to mistake his nervousness for readiness. But I remembered my first time and I knew what it is. He maybe had a girlfriend but I am not a girl.

"I think we have to move slower," suggested I. "I know you think you're ready but it's not so easy. I don't want you to freak out."

"I won't. I promise." His breath was shallow and hot. "Don't make me stop, please."

"No. We won't stop, we just make it really slow. You have to get used to the idea, and you can't do it not really knowing what it is. You still have your own image of what I am underneath it all. Subconsciously you still think I'm a woman. You're straight. It's not your fault. Should it so happen that you can't do it at all - it's alright. I wouldn't be mad at you. And I'll let you go. Or let you stay if you want. I can do without sex. Whatever you like. You clearly don't mind kissing so... Let's just do that for a while, shall we?"

And we did that. For a long while. And the next day, too. And then was the time for him to go home. I really hated the idea. So we slept together, spooned. I recalled how good it actually is - to be with someone. To share. When you're alone you forget. I assume, to stay sane. But one rush of oxytocin and all is back.

 

02.26.13

He asked if I can stay in his cabin at night in working days. They said no. Also they said no to him staying at my place at night in working days. I said he shouldn't fucking ask. He said they would know anyway. I said it's their job to know but not ours to tell. I also might have applied to him some epithets like "coward" and "mumma's boy". And... I actually forgot to ask when the fuck we actually decided to move together.

 

02.28.13

He's outside. It's night. And he actually is outside my door. "They said I can't stay in your room, they said nothing about the corridor." Idiot. I brought him the arm-chair and a blanket. Pocky is not amused. So he drove me out of my bed. I knew it would end with me sleeping atop of Eric in the arm-chair at the corridor.

 

03.04.13

It ended exactly like that, yeah. So they facepalmed and said "fuck it". It's not even an office romance, we're in different branches, so why should anyone care. I said why the fuck you cared in the first place. They, represented by miss Ravenel, said that it's a fucking regulation that every resident should stay at their assigned place at nights because when we had no mobile communication it was the only way to get to a resident in the case of emergency. So it's actually my dad's fault. That was his rule. I said he's dead and I have iPad with Intranet. She said to be sure to take it with me. But I forgot the diary. So I returned today while he's at work.

So... Beside this clownade that what happened:

We were moving slow but not that slow. He wanted to explore me and it was a good idea actually. Until he revealed something I didn't notice in myself by my own.

"You don't want me," said he with surprise. "I wasn't expecting it grow before because I never experienced another penis in the situation but now when I see it I realize that it should be much bigger. And I recall that I never felt it, not once."

"What are you talking about?" It was gibberish. "Of course I want you."

"Oh... So... This is a hobbit thing, then? And you just forgot to mention it while teaching?"

"The fuck are you talking about?"

"This," he brushed my groin. Again. He was doing it for a while before that and I was not complaining.

I moaned.

"You're faking it!" He accused me.

"What? I'm definitely not faking anything. If you weren't a damn virgin, I would be humping you already."

"Augh!" He exclaimed in fake outrage. "Firstly, who would hump who? And secondly, with what?"

And I actually looked at it.

"I'm not familiar with a hobbit physiology but in men's book it's called 'flaccid'. And I noticed that I really want it not to be."

"Oh fuck. Et tu, Lexapro? It's SSRI SD," I explained. "Sexual dysfunction caused by antidepressant. I really thought that I could wobble. In my head I wobbled like crazy. Really, don't laugh!"

"I'm not laughing! Why the hell antidepressant would kill the natural antidepressant? Like, as a rival?"

"Oh, you didn't hear the full list of side effects. Depression is a side effect of antidepressant!"

"Really?"

"Fucking yeah, most of them, actually. Lexapro by the way had none of that, I had so much hope for it. I really did. I felt good. First time in years I felt moderately good on antidepressant. And I would be good if not..."

"If not me and my silly desire to make it work," finished he for me pointing at indeed flaccid member of my anatomy.

"Do you really want it to work? I mean maybe it's for the best. It's not... intimidating when it's not working. It's like vagina inside out." I growled at myself. 'Vagina inside out'? Really?

"I found out just now that I really anticipated it to grow, actually. I was disappointed when it stayed this way. You know, it's actually less strange that my first time with a girl: you are intimidated by unknown and you never actually know woman's body. But I know how yours should work."

"But the thing is in desire, not in conveniences." I growled more. For fuck's sake, I really thought I was erect. It never happened before when I had SD. I just didn't want sex at all. Could get it up manually just as a habit but main problem was not coming. Now I'm like a cat in heat except I don't actually have heat at all. It's all in my head. They say love is a chemical but I guess firstly it's electrical. It's brain waves. Chemicals are the effect; brain function is the cause. The brain orders glands, not the other way around. What if brain orders but glands dysfunction? So perhaps this SD is a result of gland dysfunction if I can't even erect, and not the brain one? I have to tell my doctor. It can't be good. I might have testicular cancer or something.

"My desire is still here." He hugged me waking me from bad thoughts. I finally got my cancer and it's the first time in ten years I don't want it. Bummer.

"Are you that sure?"

"Unlike you I actually have a proof."

And yes indeed he had.

"Want me to blow you?" I asked.

"No."

"Why?"

"If you can't participate, I shall refrain from pleasure. That is the way of a gentleman."

"Oh fuck. I have a gentleman in my bed. It's pretty intimidating, though."

"Why?"

"I don't fucking know how to behave myself with one."

"You never had a gentleman?"

"Not the one I wanted to keep, no."

"Do you want me to keep?"

"Are we not on the point of our relationship when you have to understand it by yourself?"

"I don't know. Are we?"

"I would have to slip off the pill to have a proof to that." I had doubts it was about the pill, though...

"Not like last time, though," he warned me. "You will change antidepressant under the care of a physician."

"No more speed?" I pouted.

"We will move slow."

 

03.09.13

I had a result of a biopsy today. Nope. It's not cancer. Well, yes, but it's benign. They rayed me and found something that could be prostatic cancer but it's deeply benign and rather small. And couldn't cause my SD. So we're returning to the anti-d theory. There's a chance it's Zoloft 's fault and not Lexapro's. So we're testing something at Monday. I want to keep Lexapro if possible, it was really good in any other effect.

In other news... Eric is talking about supervised trips to Vegas. I'm talking back. And then in the same night I'm having a dream when I'm at the concert... I even don't remember who it was, some punk band of another. But the rush... I never thought I would miss people. I guess I just missed the particular one. It's just I remember Wynn being amongst people most of the time. And we met at the concert. I forgot who it was, too. Some punk band or another.

"So can we go to the gig? Rock concert I mean." I asked when Eric brought this topic again.

"It's too many people and too much chaos." He nodded no. And I even didn't specify it to 'punk'.

"Well, I don't want to do anything else in the city."

"Think again. Please."

"But I never actually did anything else in the city. I was a teenager and then I was here. What adults do in the city?"

He chuckled.

"Theatres, museums, casino..."

"So in Vegas mostly casino. Neh... Siegfried and Roy?"

"I don't think they still perform."

"Why?"

"One of them was eaten by a tiger or something."

"Ouch. That must have hurt."

"David Copperfield, then?"

"I was kidding. I could care less about the genre."

"Well, I don't know... Dinner out?"

"Yeah, food have to be better than here but it's not worth it, though, anyway."

"Well, I insist. I want a real date."

"We can dinner out at Pony or The Last Home..." I tried.

"It wouldn’t be the same."

"What's the difference? As I understand, we'll be amongst orcs anyway. Or they're sending Nazgûls?"

"Come on, it'll be fun."

"And kinda banal, don't you think?"

"Then choose anything else, something less banal."

"I already have but you didn't like it."

"The fact I don't want to go to Tokio Hotel gig..."

"TH? I said 'rock', did I? Not 'pop'. Actually I meant 'punk' anyway."

"Isn't punk dead?"

"In your dreams, square."

"I'll ask what we can do."

"And actually I don't want Vegas. Can it be a little further? I want my alma mater - Berkeley. Check who's playing at Berkeley Square."

"Okay. You really are a difficult man; you know that?"

"Yeah, I'm not easy maintenance, but you already knew it."

And when he left I said to myself. Yes, shit. I am difficult. And have no right to burden someone with me. And now I hate myself. It's not about stupid concert, of course. I's about depression. If I have to get off Lexapro and the next one won't be soo good, what would happen? I don't want him fuss over me, old and sick. He's not some boy toy, he's a sentient being. He wants things I probably could never give him. So what am I doing?

 

03.11.13

There's no more Berkeley Square. I didn't know. Fucking sad. When I was at the university it was our concert hall. I met Wynn there.

So he asked me what's my second choice. I still don't know but... He actually did it! They all eat of his hands, those suckers. They let me go to the fucking gig. I reaaaaly start pranoi-ing. Is he secretly a ring-bearer? How he can do such things? Or there was some truth in his 'super-smuggler' routine? This courtship is epic. I feel myself inadequate because he seems like all-mighty and I can't give him even fucking sex.

I'm pretty sure he's at least a son of a ring-bearer. Maybe the junior who has to earn everything by his own. The bootstrap. Or maybe he's just a stubborn son of a bitch who doesn't takes no for an answer. He slept under my door, who knows what tantrums he throws under their doors. They're so tired of him they'll do anything to get him out of their sight. Yeah, that must be it. He's nudnik. He's nagging them all to death.

 

03.15.13

I overestimated his power. We won't be going to a gig. We won't be going anywhere. Well, if honestly I'm relieved. I don't know when I became such sociophobe but... I guess I'm like that animal that is afraid to get out of its cage. Come to think of it, if I was aware that he will get me out to the surface and not been surprised by it like I was, I would feel the same agitation. I would rather stay put. Maybe all I need is a surprise. But then it's about me deciding what I want to do, again. If I want to be someone again. If I want. Do I want? Do I deserve? To make decisions? Me? I don't know how to make decisions. I never tried really. Eric in his twentieth is more adult than I am. Not because I'm a hobbit and a petite brebiette. But because I had one chance and I blew it. And now, it's not a second chance or anything. I don't have second chances. So... I don't deserve it. Any of it.

 

03.19.13

Apparently fucking Luvox that they had me on instead of Lexapro doesn't work. Or I'm just an old hag. I didn't go this weekend on the surface. I actually might have told Eric where he can get off. That was a decision, ain't it? Why prolong our misery? I clearly can't handle this whole boyfriend thing. I'm afraid he deemed my behavior a spoiled brat's tantrum 'cause I didn't get from him what I want. He tried to explain why they changed their mind and tried to calm me with the hope they'll reconsider. I really didn't notice then but now I think he really deemed me a spoiled prat. Really, am I that much shit that I doesn't understand that he did his best and much more than he should already? Am I? I didn’t tell him that I'm actually glad they forbade me the trip. I didn't tell him that I'm too afraid to even think of going outside. He will try to give me back my trip and then he's gonna resent me for that. And I will never get his trust again. I don't know why I still want him to. I mean I lied to him. I've been lying him repeatedly. The sooner he forgets about me the better. So yes, I was cruel. For him.

And don't tell me it's depression talking. Depression lies, but only in probability. It never lies point-blank. It tells the worst possibility but nevertheless what could actually happen or what is actually happening. The worst picture of what you are. So yes, I understand that it's depression talking but I agree with it. I am a wreck. I am shit. I happen. It doesn't mean he has to go down with me. He's young, he will have something more if he let me be. I don't want to be his problem. He already thinks that he owns me something and I can't give him anything.

 

03.23.13

Why he can't just leave me alone? No, I don't feel fucking pessimistic. I feel myself realistic. I was too optimistic on the pill. Pill is the pill, right? It elevates you. I was not seeing straight. No. I actually saw it, but I persuaded myself that I was pessimistic, but it was realistic point of view. Who said that my brain chemistry is bad and not others'? Being majority doesn't make them right. Remember the land of blind? I really feel myself sighted at last. I don't know. I just want it to stop. Can it just stop at last? I'm so tired.

 

04.05.13

Well... I'm not dead. I wanted to be. I didn't try it for some time, yeah. Forgot how it hurts. Later, when you come around and realize you're still alive. It fucking hurts.

I'm on Lexapro again. It doesn't numb shit so I'd really like some speed or stuff. I even don't have alcohol here. I'm back at my place. I made a pact with brown coats that I won't try again if he stops coming here. He still texts me on intracom but I try not to read. I have my serotonin back and still think this relationship is a bad idea. See? I was right. I was realistic.

 

04.08.13

He came Friday night. I said "go away" but he just burst into the cell.

"I gave you time," he said. "I gave you space, but it's just can't do."

"Typical man," I grumbled. "Can't take no for an answer."

He stopped at his track. "It's not like that."

"And like what it is?" I moaned lying down on my face.

"It was depression, not you, who said 'no'."

"I'm better now, thanks, but still no."

"Am I forcing you?" he said like he realized the new concept. "I'm not... I don't... I'll never... I just... I want to tell you that I always be there for you. As a friend or anything else you need."

I moaned more. That could be my way out, really. Tell him I don't need him, that I'm better off. That he's a burden. I could leave it like that, he would go and I'll just never let him know how I really want him in my life. And he would always feel that I just wasn't that interested. That he's not worthy or not wanted. That I abandoned him. Like my boys. They, too, think I abandoned them. Think they're not wanted. Not loved. I couldn’t leave it like that, how could I?

"It's not because of me," I said through tears. "It's not because I don't love you, stupid."

"Well, it's also not because I don't love you... stupid. So the heck why?"

I wiped my eyes and faced him. "Look at me. So you love me? Even my beard?" I didn't shave for almost two weeks and it finally started to grow. "I'm not who you still think I am."

"I actually like your beard. It suits you," said he sitting down beside me on the bed. "Hey, stop this 'you don't love me, you love the idea of me' shit. I actually don't love the idea of you at all. Who would? You're literally could be my father; you have mental illness. You're clearly not a gift from gods and I get it. And do you think I didn't say to myself the heck I'm doing? I thought nothing more those days. But I can't just walk away. I know you think you're protecting me but... You can't protect me from pain by hurting me. I don't work like that."

"Surgery works like that," I sniffed stubbornly.

"You're not a tumor! You don't see it, but you do me good. Even when you're not good yourself. So yes, maybe you see yourself as a malignant because you're hurting but it doesn't mean you're hurting me. And I know I can do you good, too. No," he noticed my reaction. "I'm not in some delusion that I can cure you. I know that only pill can do it. But at least I can remind you to take the bloody pill. It will be good for you to actually interact with someone on daily basis. Whatever more will happen - that's all ours to try or not but they actually insist on us living together now."

"Do they?"

"Yeah, imagine that," he lifted his brows innocently. Yes, he definitely nagged them all to death. "So you see, we can't disobey ainurs, do we?" Cheeky bustard.

I moved over to give him space in bed.

So yes, it's Monday morning and I'm settling into his house. Well, I already know his house so it's rather Pocky who's settling in. He settled in his other shoes, in the flower pot, onto the welcome rug. Also he's really into that open air thing so I guess I better order a leash. For now he's window-walking but he'd rather do it properly outside, you know.

You should see him seeing a bird for the first time!

**Author's Note:**

> next:  
> "Who are you?" I think we asked simultaneously.  
> "Are you a friend of Eric?" asked I then and I think he said something along with me but I didn't understand what.  
> "What are you doing in my house?" asked he then and that was like we were in a bad scifi story as if being in the Area 51 doesn't give this notion already. I knew instantly who he was. Of course, I thought. He must have been stuck in a time bubble or some shit. He lived here before Eric. I wondered if he's also a quartermaster. Oh, yes, there's a Quortermaster Corps emblem near his Major's golden leaf. So what year he thinks it is? But I asked something different.  
> "Do you know the story of Rip van Winkle?"


End file.
